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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25019998">Potentially Lovely, Perpetually Human</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/legendtripper/pseuds/legendtripper'>legendtripper</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Detroit Evolution Artfest - July 2020 [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Detroit Evolution (2020), Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Android Gavin Reed, Androids, Basically Here's 20k of Android Gavin and Human Nines Falling In Love, Case Fic, Connor &amp; Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings, Connor is the Ultimate Wingman, DE ArtFest, DEArtfest, Detroit Evolution Artfest, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hank Anderson and Connor Live Together, Human Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Human Upgraded Connor | RK900, Inspired by Octopunk Media's Detroit: Evolution Fan Film, M/M, Nines Gets the Shit Beat Out of Him, Nonbinary Upgraded Connor | RK900, Oblivious Chris Miller, Octopunk Media, Octopunk Media's Detroit: Evolution Fan Film, Post-Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), The One you Think Is Lazzo? You're Right, Tina Is Really Smart Because I Love Her, Torture, Upgraded Connor | RK900 Has a Different Name, With DA and DE References Sprinkled Liberally Throughout, but it's very subtle - Freeform, god these tags are a mess, reverse!au - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 06:55:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>22,263</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25019998</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/legendtripper/pseuds/legendtripper</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When one door closes, another opens.</p><p>OR: Nines gets fired and his life goes off the rails a little bit.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Connor &amp; Upgraded Connor | RK900, Tina Chen (Detroit: Become Human)/Valerie Morales-Chen, Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Detroit Evolution Artfest - July 2020 [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1884094</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>95</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Potentially Lovely, Perpetually Human</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Here's my Day One fic for Octopunk Media's Detroit Evolution Artfest! The prompt was Reverse!AU and I had so much fun writing this. Many shoutouts to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/bakasara">bakasara</a> and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/salemforshort">salemforshort</a> for beta-ing this monstrosity, and to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/DomLerrys/pseuds/DomLerrys">DomLerrys</a> for creating the beautiful accompanying artwork.</p><p>Thanks to <a href="https://twitter.com/ladytuono">Michelle Iannantuono</a> for organizing this lovely event!</p><p>Content Warning: There's some fairly graphic torture about two-thirds of the way through, starting at "The world fades to black" and ending at "Nines opens his mouth to loose some scathing insult upon him." Check the end notes for a (spoiler-laden) summary of what you missed! Take care of yourselves.</p><p>Title from "Open" by Regina Spektor.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>Nines, as a general rule, loves stability. Consistency. A pattern he can slip into and uphold to the best of his ability. Routine is a safe haven for him when the rest of his life falls into chaotic shambles, something he can easily take control of.</p><p>When Captain Hendricks calls him into her office, he’s concerned. He hasn’t done anything wrong, to his recollection, and neither is he due for a raise. Nines takes a seat, rather apprehensively, and waits for the news.</p><p>Hendricks sucks in a breath.</p><p>“We’re letting you go.”</p><p>Nines gapes, blinking rapidly.</p><p>“I— I’m sorry?”</p><p>His Captain sighs, resting her chin on her hands.</p><p>“Funding for this precinct’s been… drastically reduced for next year. More of it’s being channeled into the southern branch to help it recover after the fire. And, as such, we’re having to cut a lot of our staff.”</p><p>Nines supposes it makes sense. His precinct can barely handle any more budget reallocations; they’re already struggling. He just… never figured <em>he’d</em> be the one to go.</p><p>“I understand,” he says, leaning forward slightly, “but, may I ask <em>why me</em>?”</p><p>Hendricks offers an apologetic shrug. “I’m sorry, Nines, but you’re the newest hire. If it were up to me, I’d hold onto you; you’ve got so much potential and I hate to see you go. But the higher ups thought it best to keep our more seasoned detectives.” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I’m really sorry.”</p><p>All Nines can do is sit back in his chair. He rubs his chin with his hand.</p><p>“When do I leave?”</p><p>“Today.”</p><p>God, so <em>soon</em>.</p><p>“Alright.”</p><p>“Larsson’s bringing you a box to get your stuff. Just, you know. Turn in the essentials before you go.”</p><p>Nines stands, smoothing down his coat. In turn, Hendricks offers a cordial hand to shake, and Nines takes it with all the enthusiasm of a man headed to the gallows.</p><p>“I wish you the best, Detective,” she says, and the worst part is that Nines thinks she means it. “I’ve put in a good word for you at one of Detroit’s police stations. They, uh— They have a new opening.”</p><p>“Thank you.” Nines turns on his heel to go.</p><p>“Oh, um… One more thing?”</p><p>When Nines looks over his shoulder, Hendricks is holding her hands up in a placating gesture.</p><p>“It’s your brother’s precinct, the one with all the android staff. Will that be a problem?”</p><p>Nines shakes his head, mustering as much false cheer as he can. “No,” he says through gritted teeth. “No, not at all.”</p><p>Hendricks smiles.</p><p>“Good. I hope the D.P.D. is kinder to you.”</p><p><em>I doubt it</em>.</p><p>“Good evening, Captain.” Nines gives her a perfunctory wave.</p><p>“Please,” she says, moving from behind her desk to pull Nines into a sudden hug that he awkwardly returns. “Call me Carly.”</p><p>Nines leaves his office for the last time twenty minutes later, a cardboard box with his few personal effects tucked neatly inside slung under one arm.</p><p>He glares up at the wintry sky, all cool steel grays and the kind of monochrome hue that belies a vicious chill with just a look. Papery flakes float to the ground in short bursts, whipped around by the unnatural air currents that snake between the skyscrapers of downtown Chicago.</p><p>Signing, Nines calls a cab and speeds off into the dark.</p><p>During the ride, he sets about booking a train ticket to Detroit. The first one he can feasibly catch is an overnight haul, with no sleeper car, set to depart around one in the morning. He groans. It’s not gonna be a pleasant night.</p><p>The cab deposits him on the steps of his rental, charging him an exorbitant amount for a distance he could’ve <em>walked</em> if the weather had been more accommodating. The faded brick façade of his temporary residence is terribly familiar.</p><p>As he approaches the front door, his landlord’s cat, Tessa, greets him on the steps, twining herself between his legs. Nines offers her a few friendly scratches behind the ears, which Tessa eagerly accepts, before letting himself in.</p><p>He has embarrassingly few possessions to take with him. The house he’s spent the last five or so years of his life in is barely even his. It came furnished, with perfectly average pieces that evoke no sense of belonging other than by sheer length of association, plain bedspreads and ordinary wooden chairs.</p><p>It all fits in one small leather duffel. Nines’s whole life, packed into three cubic feet.</p><p>When Nines drops his keys off with the landlord, the enormity of his situation finally begins to sink in.</p><p>The cab ride to the train station is equal parts interminable and too fast for his liking. Surprisingly few travelers are here this time of night, and the ones that <em>are</em> mainly comprise the sorts of people Nines would rather not spend his time with. So he makes himself comfortable at a corner booth at some ridiculously overpriced station café, quietly nursing an herbal tea.</p><p>He doesn’t call Connor. Not yet.</p><p>His brother can wait.</p><p>The train is mostly devoid of passengers, so Nines has no compunctions about tossing his coat into the seat next to him the minute he settles in for the ride. He checks his watch and mentally calculates his arrival time.</p><p><em>About 5:00</em>.<em> Connor won’t be pleased</em>.</p><p>Nines eventually settles on pulling out his computer and typing out a brief email to the captain of the precinct Hendricks referred him to. He pretends he’s being productive, just so he doesn’t have to think about doing something so incredibly simple it shouldn’t have taken him five years to do so.</p><p>“It’s just a text, Nines” he mutters to himself, eyeing the phone sticking out of his coat pocket like it might attack him at any given moment. “It’s not that awful.”</p><p>Except it is. It really is.</p><p>In the email, Nines explains his plight to Captain Fowler, hoping and praying he comes off as eager to help and not some sort of whiney kissass like his brother. Though, come to think of it, his brother got hired there, so maybe some kiss-assery is in order. And if Nines adds one too many “Looking forward to working with you”s? Well, that doesn’t mean anything.</p><p>Around two a.m., Nines is officially out of excuses. He’s already scrubbed at the scuff mark on his boot until it wore into nothing (it took him seven minutes). He’s cleaned out his work inbox (43 unread, over 500 that pertain to cases no longer relevant to him that he deletes with a heavy feeling in his chest). Hell, he’s even started counting the rivets in the train walls (247 so far).</p><p>His brother should still be awake, his sleep schedule’s always been atrocious. Whether or not he’s sober is an entirely different matter. Nines honestly isn’t sure which one he prefers.</p><p>Connor picks up on the second ring.</p><p>“What do you want,” he snaps, and it’s not really a question. It actually sounds like he’d been sleeping.</p><p>Nines mentally reshuffles his thoughts on his brother.</p><p>“I need you to pick me up from the train station.”</p><p>Silence. Nines braces himself for the inevitable tirade, something he’d gotten worryingly used to from Connor.</p><p>But it never comes.</p><p>“What, now?”</p><p>“No, no,” Nines assures him. “Around 5:30, I’d guess.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>Nines blinks. It can’t be that simple, can it?</p><p>“Oh. Uh, thanks.”</p><p>“No problem.”</p><p>A lengthy pause worms its way into the conversation. All Nines can hear from the other line is the soft pulse of Connor’s breathing.</p><p>
  <em>Does he push it?</em>
</p><p>“I… I also have a favor to ask of you.”</p><p>“What, the personal Uber wasn’t enough?” Connor snorts.</p><p>Nines huffs. “No, I was going to ask if I could stay at your place. Just for a few days.”</p><p>There’s genuine puzzlement in Connor’s voice when he says, “What? Why?”</p><p>“I got laid off.”</p><p>“... oh.”</p><p>Nines can almost <em>hear</em> the gears turning in Connor’s skull as he decides what to do with his washed up failure of a sibling. He can only hope Connor’s in a favorable mood.</p><p>“Sorry. I don’t think that’s possible.”</p><p>The pit of Nines’s stomach drops. As much as he’d expected it, hearing his brother reject him so clearly still stings.</p><p>“But.”</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“I have a friend who might be able to hook you up with an apartment. I’ll call her in the morning.”</p><p>Nines unashamedly lets out a relieved sigh.</p><p>“You’re the best, Con.”</p><p>The nickname rolls off his tongue easy as anything, but Nines still freezes up the minute it passes his lips. It sounds so simple, so innocuous. Like it hasn’t been five years since he’s had any sort of communication with his brother, like it hasn’t been ten since they saw each other face to face.</p><p>Almost fifteen since they were anything close to friendly.</p><p>Connor must pick up on Nines’s distress, he <em>has</em> to, but blessedly, he doesn’t say anything.</p><p>“I know, kid. Now, if you want me to be at all sociable in a few hours, I gotta go back to sleep.”</p><p>“Sure.” Nines picks at his thumbnail. “And thank you, by the way.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, don’t mention it.”</p><p>And then the line clicks dead.</p><p>As Nines brings the phone down from his ear, he notices his hands are shaking.</p><p> </p><p>Connor picks him up from the train station early the next morning, scowl etched into his face. In one hand, he clutches a cup of coffee— disgustingly bitter and black, Nines is sure of it, his brother’s caffeine habits can’t have changed too much in ten years.</p><p>He looks appropriately unenthused to see his estranged sibling on three hours’ notice at the crack of dawn in the type of brutally cold and windy snowstorm unique to mid-January. The sun’s just barely over the horizon, not that anyone would know it through all the snow blanketing the streets.</p><p>Nines nods by way of greeting, brushing past Connor and throwing his duffel into the trunk of the old Cutlass. All the tentative friendliness of the previous night is forgotten; maybe it's the insomnia, maybe it’s the reality of staring their years of animosity in the face, maybe it’s something else entirely.</p><p>No matter the cause, Nines feels like he’s dancing on eggshells.</p><p>Connor cranks some shitty heavy metal the instant his foot is on the gas pedal, and Nines is almost gratified to know his music tastes are exactly the same as they used to be. With one word, he could start up the old cycle of <em>turn that down</em>, <em>screw you, it’s my car</em>, <em>I can’t hear myself think</em>, but this time, he doesn’t. He doesn’t have the energy for fighting.</p><p>Until Connor decides it’s time to talk.</p><p>Rolling to a stop at a red light, Connor takes a moment to survey Nines’s rumpled clothes, the bags under his eyes, and frowns.</p><p>“You look terrible, Co—”</p><p>“<em>Nines</em>.” It comes out harsher than he wanted.</p><p>Connor raises an eyebrow.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Nines swallows thickly. So much has changed in the last ten years.</p><p>“Call me Nines.”</p><p>Connor purses his lips.</p><p>“When did this happen?”</p><p>“Same day I changed my last name, too.”</p><p>“You <em>what</em>.”</p><p>“What I choose to do with myself is none of your business.”</p><p>Connor almost misses the green light, but Nines nudges his hand and he slams on the gas. The car jerks forward so hard Nines is momentarily convinced he’s gonna end this trip with whiplash.</p><p>“‘None of my business’ my <em>ass</em>, Co— Nines. You’re my <em>family</em>.”</p><p>Nines notices the correction, but it doesn’t feel as good as it should.</p><p>“Quit fooling yourself, we stopped being family the day you decided I didn’t deserve to control my own life.”</p><p>Connor opens his mouth to retort, but something stops him. He frowns, clearly mulling something over. Nines’s skin crawls.</p><p>“What is it now?”</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>“Your new last name.”</p><p>“Oh.” Nines sighs. “Reed. After... after our mother.”</p><p>Connor takes this information stoically.</p><p>“Nines Reed,” he says, as if testing it. “It suits you.”</p><p>All Nines can do is nod. When Connor resumes his cacophonous music, Nines knows the conversation is over.</p><p>The car stops in front of a simple, one-story house an agonizingly long ride later.</p><p>“You can throw your stuff in the guestroom,” Connor says, stifling a yawn. “I’ll make breakfast, take you into the station later, ‘kay?”</p><p>“You almost make it sound like I’m being arrested,” Nines chuckles.</p><p>Connor doesn’t laugh.</p><p>As it turns out, Connor has a dog. A <em>very large </em>dog, a Saint Bernard by the looks of it.</p><p>“Down, Sumo,” Connor scolds without malice. The dog—<em>Sumo</em>, Nines notes—happily obliges, puttering about the living room before retreating to his dog bed with a graceless flop.</p><p>Connor’s house is somehow exactly and nothing like what Nines expected. It’s a humble space, with simple furniture, fairly well-kept. The kitchen is sparse, only the most basic of implements placed haphazardly on the shelves. Certain elements of Connor’s personality are visible in the canvas jacket slung over the back of a dining room chair, a lone pair of socks discarded by the foot of the couch, a few worn paperbacks piled up on the end table.</p><p>Something tugs at Nines’s chest. He forgot how much he missed this.</p><p>“Make yourself at home,” Connor says, pulling out a half-empty box of pancake mix from the cupboard.</p><p>Nines hesitantly picks his way through the house, depositing his duffel on a crisply made bed and picking out a fresh change of clothes.</p><p>“Where’s the shower?” Nines calls out.</p><p>“Across the hall!”</p><p>When Nines emerges, feeling remarkably refreshed despite running on an hour’s restless sleep, the smell of bacon saturates the air, and for a moment, he can almost convince himself they’re back in Connor’s old apartment, back when he worked three jobs just to get Nines through school, back when things weren’t perfect but at least they were happy.</p><p>Connor’s just wrapping up a phone call when Nines makes himself known, and Connor shoves his phone in his pocket.</p><p>“Who was that?” Nines asks, taking a seat at the kitchen table.</p><p>“Officer Tina Chen. She’s a friend of mine. I asked her about letting you have her old apartment.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“Yeah, there’s been a vacancy since she and Valerie moved out.” With that, Connor deposits a plate heaped high with pancakes drenched in syrup and a generous helping of bacon on the table in front of Nines.</p><p>Nines stabs a fork into his pancakes. “Valerie?”</p><p>“Her wife.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>Connor smiles thinly. “Yeah. I think you’ll like her.”</p><p>“I certainly hope so.”</p><p>Nines finds it eerily easy to make small talk with Connor, chatting about their lives and their jobs. Connor’s a Lieutenant now, youngest in Detroit’s history, and Nines can’t say he’s surprised. His brother’s always had an ambitious streak. He’s doing well, Nines surmises. He’s content. And—</p><p>“Listen, my partner’s gonna be up soon, so we should get ready to go,” Connor says, checking his watch and eyeing his bedroom door.</p><p>Nines chokes into his coffee (cut with milk and sugar, because he’s not a heathen). “Your what?”</p><p>“My partner. Colleague. You know, the thing you have when you’re a detective? Who solves crimes with you?”</p><p>“I know what a partner is, Connor,” Nines grumbles, mopping up a coffee stain with a napkin. “I wasn’t aware they were <em>here</em>. Is that—” he gestures toward the bedroom “—strictly HR approved?”</p><p>Connor wrinkles his nose. “It’s nothing like that, I assure you. You’ll see in a minute.”</p><p>Nines squints disbelievingly in his brother’s direction, but before he can say anything, the door to Connor’s room creaks open and a man emerges, adjusting the collar of his striped shirt. At first glance, he doesn’t look like much, just a man in his fifties with a distinctly <em>weathered</em> appearance, with silvery hair swept back in a short ponytail, but then Nines looks again.</p><p>There’s an LED spinning lazily on his right temple.</p><p>His brother’s partner is an android.</p><p>Nines, of course, knew about Detroit’s move to introduce androids into its police force. He just didn’t know it had spread so far as to include detective staff. He grimaces slightly. For all CyberLife touts the superiority of its products in all fields, Nines has a hard time believing a bundle of metal and wires could possibly replace human intuition. Of course, that’s all a moot point now that androids have free will, which Nines still can’t quite wrap his head around.</p><p>“Good morning,” he says flatly, avoiding Connor’s gaze.</p><p>“Good morning to you, too.” The android’s eyes glaze over slightly and Nines gets the impression he’s scanning him. Nines shrinks into himself. He doesn’t like having his privacy tampered with, even if it’s well-meaning.</p><p>“Hank, this is Nines,” Connor says, gesturing vaguely in Nines’s direction. “Nines, this is my partner, Hank.”</p><p>“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Hank holds out a hand that Nines gingerly shakes. His skin is rough and calloused, so close to human it makes Nines a little nauseated. How does his brother do it?</p><p>Connor claps his hands together. “Well! I think it’s time for us to head out.”</p><p>Nines is grateful for the interruption. He’s not sure how long he would’ve lasted.</p><p>The three of them pile into Connor’s car a few minutes later, Nines shunted to the back seat like a petulant toddler. Hank and Connor make light conversation, the sort expected between two old friends, and a twinge of jealousy twists Nines’s gut. He ignores it.</p><p>Upon their arrival at the station, Nines begrudgingly accepts Connor’s offer to steer him in the right direction. A receptionist android greets him with a pleasant smile.</p><p>“Good morning, Lieutenant Anderson,” she says, and Connor gives a friendly wave. Then, to Nines, “May I help you, sir?”</p><p>Nines cringes a little at the honorific, but doggedly presses on.</p><p>“I should have an appointment with Captain Fowler?”</p><p>“Name?”</p><p>“Uh, Reed.”</p><p>She closes her eyes, placing a white metal hand on a black screen inlaid into the desk. Her eyelids flicker with the slightest movement.</p><p>“You’re listed for later today,” she says, finally removing her hand from the keypad, the skin already reforming around the sleek metal chassis. “Instructions stipulate you wait out here, but I’m sure Lieutenant Anderson wouldn’t mind showing you around?”</p><p>“Of course not, Shannon.” Connor grins, the friendliest look Nines has seen from his brother since he arrived in Detroit.</p><p>“Perfect! You can go through those doors over there.” Shannon quickly types something into her terminal before pointing to a row of turnstiles before a set of glass double doors with the Detroit Police Department logo etched into the center.</p><p>“Thank you,” Nines says. “Have a nice day!”</p><p>Shannon laughs. “You too.”</p><p>The bullpen is, at best, cluttered, and at worst, apocalyptically chaotic. Officers and secretaries and interns bustle about, shouting across the space about paperwork and case files and yesterday’s coffee orders. Desks are piled high with electronics, stacks of manila folders, old carryout containers, and all sorts of personal detritus Nines wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole. He thinks back to his desk at the C.P.D., all neatly organized and minimalistic.</p><p>What he wouldn’t give to be back in that office.</p><p>“C’mon,” Connor says, giving Nines’s arm a gentle tug. “My desk is toward the back.”</p><p>Turns out, Connor’s desk is <em>also</em> horrendously messy, but Nines elects not to comment. Partially because he’s starting to enjoy this tenuous peace with his brother and also because he’s worried Hank might rip his spine out. The android had been eyeing him rather suspiciously all morning.</p><p>Connor practically throws himself into his chair, rolling backward from the force of it before catching himself on the glass that lines his cubicle.</p><p>“Hank and I have a couple cases to work today, so once you get the tour, you’re on your own,” Connor says, logging into his computer. The screen comes to life and in one fluid motion, Connor and Hank swap positions, Hank steadfastly pulling up a series of documents.</p><p>“I’ll show you around.”</p><p>Most of the tour is fairly self-explanatory, especially for someone as familiar with police proceedings as Nines. Connor points out the breakroom (making sure to insult the coffee everyone inevitably drinks), the restrooms, the evidence room, and Captain Fowler’s office—though Nines is certain he would’ve figured that part out on his own, the elevated platform encased in privacy glass isn’t exactly inconspicuous—letting him in on bits and pieces of office gossip. Nines doesn’t interrupt, just listens to his brother in his element. It’s times like this when he misses their old, easy friendship, a time before the heartbreak of loss and distance.</p><p>The only interesting part of Connor’s impromptu realty spiel is when they come across an officer conversing with an android outside the holding cells.</p><p>“Good morning, Tina,” Connor says, giving her a two-fingered salute.</p><p>Tina excuses herself from the conversation and the android nods, walking down the hall. Nines watches him leave. There’s something curious about him, though for the life of him, Nines can’t seem to figure out what it is. At the same time, Tina approaches, exuding a friendly aura.</p><p>“Connor.” She thumps her fist against his shoulder. “What brings you to my humble corner of the office?”</p><p>Connor jerks his thumb in Nines’s direction. “Giving this one the tour.”</p><p>Tina looks him up and down, the corners of her mouth quirking up. “New fish?”</p><p>“Somewhat. A transfer. He has an interview with Fowler later today to get everything squared away.”</p><p>Tina’s eyes flicker to Nines’s face before widening in recognition.</p><p>“Oh shit. Him?”</p><p>Connor nods.</p><p>“Well, Nines,” Tina says, fishing in her back pocket, while Nines briefly wonders why she knows who he is, “I should probably give you these.” She deposits a small keyring in Nines’s hand, adorned with a room number tag and two small silver keys.</p><p>“I’ll text Connor the address, you’re free to move in whenever.”</p><p>Nines slowly pockets the keys, just barely processing the permanent nature of his move. Of course, he knows he isn’t going back to Chicago, but now, with new apartment keys tucked into his jacket, it feels more <em>real</em>.</p><p>“Thank you,” he says, a little taken aback. Tina winks merrily.</p><p>“No problem, dude!”</p><p>“Alright, alright, let’s get going.” Connor takes Nines’s elbow, guiding him back to the desk. “It was nice to see you, Tina.”</p><p>“You too, dork.”</p><p>Nines smiles. It’s nice to see his brother looking so happy.</p><p>And then he spots the android from earlier, sitting on a bench outside the breakroom, LED flashing a luminescent red.</p><p>“Connor,” Nines says, indicating the android in question, “who is that?”</p><p>Connor’s expression instantly sours.</p><p>“Him? None of your concern, if you’re lucky.”</p><p>Nines furrows his brow. Connor’s brusque answer does nothing to put him at ease. If anything, he’s even more curious.</p><p>He silently resolves to ask Fowler, should the subject come up.</p><p>The thought continues to plague him, scratching at the back of his mind incessantly, even as Connor gathers his things and exits the precinct, even as Hank gives him a cordial nod and joins his partner, even when Shannon comes by with his freshly printed keycards, one of which he clips to his belt without a second thought. He attempts to distract himself with the frankly horrible station coffee, but the android is still there, poking and prodding at him.</p><p>He sees him skulking around the corners of the office, occasionally, gray suit almost blending into the background. It’s somewhat rumpled, with the tie half-done and the cuffs looking a little ragged around the edges. Nines doesn’t recall having ever seen a bedraggled android before, most of them he’s met have been dressed in their pristine CyberLife uniforms, not a thing out of place. But this one’s different. His hair is unkempt, wild curls falling unevenly across his forehead, patchy stubble stretching across his jaw and cheeks. Nines could maybe write that off as intentional; an odd choice, sure, but it made more sense than the alternatives.</p><p>But one thing catches his eye.</p><p>A long, thin gash runs across the bridge of his nose, almost akin to a scar on a human, but instead gnarled and discolored. The synthskin is peeled back there, revealing the white chassis underneath, and the edges are fuzzy and indistinct, almost pixelated, shifting and morphing ever so slightly.</p><p>Nines frowns, but then the android meets his eyes.</p><p>He looks away as though the android’s scrutiny burns.</p><p>When Nines is called into Fowler’s office a moment later, the android retreats to his charging port, separate from the communal patrol unit ports.</p><p>For the most part, the meeting goes about as expected. Fowler, while a blunt man, is judicious and fair and explains what he needs of Nines in the coming months. Nines nods along, filing away the relevant information for later, but mostly looking for an opening to voice his questions concerning the lone android in the bullpen.</p><p>The opening comes right at the end.</p><p>“Captain Fowler, if I may,” Nines says as he stands. “Who is that?”</p><p>Following Nines’s gaze, Fowler sighs.</p><p>“That’s the GV200. ‘Gavin.’ He’s… a long story.”</p><p>“Oh.” Nines can’t help but be disappointed in that non-answer. “Never mind.”</p><p>“No, it’s—” Fowler wrings his hands. “It’s complicated. He’s a prototype, kinda like Hank. But he doesn’t work cases anymore.” His voice is heavy, statement weighted with hidden meanings and private recollections.</p><p>“I realize this might not be my place, but may I ask why?”</p><p>“He’s too unpredictable. He has some… unsavory history, I suppose. Gavin is difficult, to say the very least of him. So we’ve relegated him to desk duty. Too valuable to let go, too volatile to deploy.” Fowler crosses his arms. “Quite the predicament.”</p><p>Nines worries at his bottom lip, turning over a myriad of questions in his mind. But he settles on saying nothing, simply allowing Fowler to dismiss him with the promise of a desk and a badge on his belt the next day.</p><p> </p><p>Nines takes a cab to the precinct, declining Connor’s offer to drive him again. He appreciates the gesture, of course, but being crammed in the car as an awkward third wheel to Connor and Hank’s friendship is less than appealing for the first day of his new job. He settled into Tina’s old apartment fairly easily, making a couple stops to pick up some decor.</p><p>Hank is remarkably good at assembling IKEA furniture.</p><p>Connor left Tina’s number with him in case he needed help with the temperature controls, and then he and Hank said their goodbyes, and Nines was alone. Truly alone, for the first time, in a place so close to and so far from home.</p><p>Being back at Central is a welcome panacea for his troubles, something familiar to cling to while the rest of his life hangs in such a delicate balance.</p><p>Fowler had emailed him late the previous night detailing the particulars of his new assignment, and while most of the information was fairly simple—stuff like desk location and IT troubleshooting steps—the thing that really stuck in his mind was the line at the bottom.</p><p><em>Come by my office first thing to be paired with your investigative partner</em>.</p><p>Nines isn't aware of any detectives currently working solo. He could ask Connor, of course, but something in his pride won’t let him stoop to such a basic question. So all that’s left to do is make woefully uneducated guesses.</p><p>He arrives at the precinct early, mostly out of his inability to remain idle at home, his cardboard box from the C.P.D. slung under his arm. Shannon greets him when he walks in, passing a badge over the desk.</p><p>“Captain Fowler said to give this to you,” she says, tapping the metal for good measure. “Happy first day, Detective Reed.”</p><p>“Don’t remind me,” Nines says wryly, slipping the badge into his pocket.</p><p>Shannon laughs, but buzzes him in all the same.</p><p>Nines sets about unpacking his belongings onto his desk, arranging the little knick-knacks until he’s satisfied with their positioning, from a little potted succulent to a hand-painted coffee mug, gifted to him by a friend at his old precinct. He smiles softly, running a finger over the handle.</p><p>Connor and Hank arrive soon after, chatting amicably, waving from across the bullpen. Nines silently counts his blessings that there are several desks between himself and his brother. He looks at the clock. It’s still early, Fowler isn’t here yet, and Nines needs some coffee.</p><p>When he comes back, Fowler waves him over from the steps of his office. Nines groans. Letting out a long breath, he places his coffee cup on his desk and marches to the guillotine.</p><p>“Good morning, Captain,” he says, because Nines is nothing if not polite.</p><p>“To you too, Detective,” Fowler replies, indicating the chair across from him. Nines dutifully takes a seat.</p><p>“How are you finding the office so far?” The question catches Nines slightly off guard; he was so prepared to get in and go once he knew who his partner was that the concept of small talk completely eluded him.</p><p>“Fine.” <em>Come on, you can do better than that</em>. “It’s fine.”</p><p>“Good.”</p><p>A thick silence descends upon the office. Nines holds his back ramrod straight, clasping his hands in his lap, waiting for something to happen.</p><p>The door swings open with a bang.</p><p>“Oh, fuck, am I late?” It’s the GV200—<em>Gavin</em>, Nines corrects himself—flustered and almost sounding short of breath, though Nines is fairly certain androids don’t have lungs. Gavin runs a hand through his hair in a fruitless attempt to tame it, and frantically tugs on his tie before hauling the other chair out and sitting in it, somehow looking more dishevelled than how he started.</p><p>“Yes, Gavin,” Fowler says, fixing Gavin with a deadpan stare. “Again.”</p><p>Gavin frowns. “Dammit. Okay.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Nines says, slightly irritated that the mysterious figure he’d heard so much about had turned out to be so <em>normal</em>, “we’re kind of in the middle of something.”</p><p>“Yeah, about that.” Fowler takes a deep breath. “Detective Reed, meet your new partner.”</p><p>The first thing Nines feels is shock. He can’t quite believe he’s being partnered with an <em>android</em>, of all things. The second is a white-hot <em>rage</em>, which he quickly tamps down into something more manageable. Seething anger, maybe. Because, though Gavin’s <em>said</em> to be an advanced detective prototype, Nines knows he’ll only slow him down.</p><p>“I refuse.”</p><p>Gavin crosses his arms, glaring at Fowler. “Is it <em>that</em> hard to find a detective who isn’t fucking <em>racist</em>?”</p><p>Nines attempts to retort, but Fowler cuts him off.</p><p>“He’s Lieutenant Anderson’s brother, Gavin, you’re gonna have to get used to him because I’m not letting <em>you </em>drive him off. Connor can keep him in check, if need be.”</p><p>“Huh,” Gavin says, clicking his tongue. “I don’t see the resemblance.” Nines fumes.</p><p>“I don’t <em>need</em> to be kept in check,” he snaps. “Just give me <em>anyone else</em> and we won’t have a problem!”</p><p>“There <em>isn’t</em> anyone else.”</p><p>“Then I’ll work alone!”</p><p>“Not happening.”</p><p>“But—”</p><p>“My decision is <em>final</em>.” The tone of Fowler’s voice brooks no argument. “Now make it work or the both of you will be paper pushing for the next <em>month</em>. Got it?”</p><p>“Got it,” Gavin says, scowling. Nines nods sharply, though he never tears his eyes off Gavin.</p><p>“Good. Now get the hell out of my office.”</p><p>Gavin storms off without a word, leaving Nines staring at him incredulously before his wits finally return to him and he follows, hot on Gavin’s heels.</p><p>“Look who it is,” Gavin sneers when he catches sight of Nines tailing him into the breakroom. “The brown-nosing prick with a stick up his ass! Just who I wanted to see on a Monday.”</p><p>Nines fumes.</p><p>“Listen,” he says, jabbing a finger into the faded triangular logo adorning Gavin’s jacket. “I don’t like you, and I take it from the <em>everything about you</em> that you don’t like me either.”</p><p>“Oh, figure that out yourself, did you? I can see why they made you Detective.” Gavin applauds sarcastically, but Nines barrels right over him.</p><p>“But I intend to do this job <em>well</em>, so you may as well work with me to make this easy for the both of us. Do you understand?”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, chief,” Gavin drawls, leaning against the doorframe. “You’re a real laugh riot.”</p><p>Nines turns on his heel and books it back to his desk to cool down.</p><p>His coffee’s cold by now, cooled into some decidedly non-potable sludge. He chucks the cup into the trash can, rubbing his face with his hands.</p><p>He already knows this is gonna be a long day.</p><p>This feeling is compounded by Gavin’s <em>constant </em>presence at the desk across from his. He taps his fingers against the desktop, his joints click loudly, and Nines is about three seconds from tearing whatever his mechanical excuse for a throat is out of his neck because he just won’t shut <em>up</em>.</p><p>It’s a goddamn <em>miracle</em> Gavin survives the morning. He only makes it due to the timely arrival of a case file in Nines’s inbox.</p><p>On the car ride over, Nines takes a page out of Connor’s book and cranks the music as loud as he can stand without hurting himself. However, this only serves to make Gavin sing along at the top of his lungs.</p><p>Figures. Only an android could google all the words at the drop of a hat.</p><p>The scene itself is gruesome, but surprisingly simple. An android lies, beaten and battered, in the center of the room, blue blood seeping into the throw rug. A few feet from her outstretched fingers is a handgun, cocked but not fired. The door was beaten in, the carpet’s disturbed, and the wounds littering the android’s body are large and messy. Pieces of her plating are smashed or cracked, revealing clusters of wires, blackened and smoking, just underneath the surface. Her synthskin is partially deactivated in random patches, flickering in a way that reminds Nines of the scar on Gavin’s nose.</p><p>Nines clicks his tongue, mulling the evidence over, while Gavin dives straight in and sticks his fingers into the pool of blood.</p><p>“Hey, what are you—”</p><p>“Leave him be,” an officer on duty—his jacket reads <em>C. Miller</em>—says, barring Nines from getting any closer. “Watch.”</p><p>Gavin’s eyes… well, the closest term Nines can think of is <em>glaze over</em>, but that’s not quite right. They’re vacant, little lines of code flashing across the front.</p><p>“The victim’s an MP500, shut down about ten hours ago. She’s registered under the name ‘Abigail.’ No known affiliations with any sort of criminal associations and a clean criminal record. In top condition, she was of medium height, with short brown hair and pale, freckled skin. She was never registered to anyone.”</p><p>Nines blinks as the wave of information pours out of his partner’s mouth. He’d heard that android detectives had skills, but… he didn’t think they would be <em>this </em>thorough.</p><p>“Good,” is all he can say, clearing his throat. “That’s, uh. That’s good.”</p><p>For a split second, Nines almost considers not punching Gavin in the face, but then he smirks, face dripping with arrogance, and that instinct returns full force.</p><p>“Your move, Reed.”</p><p>Well, if Gavin wants to play like that… who is Nines to deny him?</p><p>He stoops down next to Gavin, doing his own analysis of the corpse, cataloguing every little detail.</p><p>“The wounds were inflicted by some sort of blunt-force weapon,” Nines starts, pointing at the dents in her chest. “Probably a baseball bat or something similar, judging by the size. Her attacker was taller than her by a considerable amount, and strong too. The harshest blows, here and here, have caved in her shoulders, suggesting a forceful overhead swing. The strikes are calculated, as well, implying this was premeditated. Did Abigail live with anyone?”</p><p>Gavin shakes his head, watching Nines with an unreadable expression.</p><p>“More than likely, her attacker had some sort of grudge against her, with reasonable time to prepare.”</p><p>He stands back up, satisfied, and nudges Gavin with the toe of his boot.</p><p>“Well?”</p><p>Gavin nods, a half-smile on his face. “Very good, Detective. I see why Fowler hired you.”</p><p>Nines practically preens. “<em>Thank</em> you.”</p><p>Gavin holds up a finger. “Now, what you fail to account for is the trail of Thirium leading away from the body.”</p><p>“Thirium?” Nines asks, raising a brow.</p><p>“Android blood, essentially. It dries invisible to the naked eye.”</p><p>“But you can still see it, I take it?”</p><p>“Bingo.” Gavin winks. Nines tries not to think about the pang of affection that lurches through his gut.</p><p>“I agree with most of what you said. The footprints outlined in the Thirium are a men’s size 12, and the stride length tells me he’s fairly tall. A smaller trail of blood spatter parallel to his path indicates the presence of a weapon, perhaps your baseball bat. It leads…” Gavin crouch-walks along the ground, an ungainly, frog-like gait that Nines has to stifle a chuckle over, “into the kitchen.”</p><p>Nines trails after him, squinting as though, through sheer force of will, he might make himself see what Gavin’s sensors can pick up.</p><p>“And?”</p><p>“They stop in front of the cabinet under the sink.”</p><p>“Is there a handprint on the handle?”</p><p>“That’s the thing. No.”</p><p>“Hmm.” Nines carefully inspects the cupboard, looking for any signs of damage or other wear and tear. A visual analysis yields no results, but when he sniffs, the distinct odor of lemon-scented cleaning products lingers in the air.</p><p>“Could you open this?” Nines asks. “I wouldn’t want to get my prints mixed up in there.”</p><p>Gavin sniffs, but obliges, revealing a host of bleaches, soaps, and other such cleaning agents. After a quick scan, Nines sees it. A container of Clorox wipes. Used to wipe everything down, most likely.</p><p>But maybe not the container itself.</p><p>“There you have it,” Nines says.</p><p>“Nice job, Reed.” Gavin nods, and if Nines didn’t know any better, he’d think his partner was impressed. He narrows his eyes. “There’s a partial print here, I can submit it to evidence for you, if you’d like.”</p><p>“Please.”</p><p>A moment later, Gavin offers him a hand, hauling the both of them to their feet.</p><p>“Well, officers,” Gavin says, saluting the remaining staff, “I think we have all we need.”</p><p>As they exit the apartment, Nines regards his partner in a new light.</p><p>“You know, you’re not so bad, for an android,” he says.</p><p>Gavin’s gaze hardens.</p><p>“Don’t get ahead of yourself, meat sack.”</p><p>Nines sighs heavily. “I hate you.”</p><p>“You <em>love</em> me.”</p><p>“Shut up.”</p><p>“Not on your life, Reed.”</p><p>As cliché as it is, Nines pinches the bridge of his nose.</p><p> </p><p>Over the next few days, Nines makes a new routine for himself at the D.P.D. He clocks in every morning, earlier than any of the human staff but always greeted by a scowling Gavin, cup of coffee in hand. Nines drinks it out of some sort of obligation, though he’s convinced Gavin will spike it one of these days.</p><p>Or fill it with salt. He seems that juvenile.</p><p>Connor, aside from some texts that make his mistrust of Gavin abundantly clear, leaves them alone, and for that, Nines is infinitely thankful. After all, it was his watchful eye that drove Nines away in the first place.</p><p>Some mornings, they pore over the files and footage from the scene. Others, they run down a list of Abigail's known associates, trying to narrow down a potential list of suspects. Until the fingerprint processes, however, all they can do is interview their best guesses and try to establish alibis. They’re still hostile, of course. Nines is positive Gavin will attempt to stab him in the back—Fowler <em>had</em> told him Gavin was unpredictable—and it’s abundantly clear that Gavin has some sort of issue with Nines, though if it has to do with his humanity or his professional aptitude, Nines isn’t sure.</p><p>About a week in, Tina stops by Nines’s desk. Gavin is nowhere in sight.</p><p>“How’s the apartment, Detective?” she asks, sitting on the table.</p><p>Nines smiles. “Perfectly acceptable, Officer Chen. Thank you.”</p><p>“Well, I should certainly hope so, I lived there for five years.” She grins, clapping a hand on his back. “Glad to be of service.”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>Tina swings her leg back and forth. “And how’s <em>Gavin</em>?” Her tone is sing-songy, implying something Nines isn’t quite sure he wants to read too much into.</p><p>“Gavin’s…” He swallows. “Fine. He’s fine.” And oddly enough, Nines finds he means it. He’s not sure when he started thinking of his partner as his<em> partner</em> and not just an annoyance, but, oddly enough, he’s come to care for Gavin more than he expected.</p><p>“Good, good,” Tina says, but it sounds like she’s expecting more.</p><p>Nines weighs his options, before thinking <em>eh, fuck it</em>, and leaning in. Tina changes position to meet him halfway.</p><p>“About Gavin… Fowler said something about him having a, uh. Troubled history? He said he was ‘<em>volatile</em>.’”</p><p>Tina’s eyes widen. “Has he done something to you?”</p><p>“No, no, nothing like that,” Nines says quickly. “He’s been… <em>aggravating</em>, I suppose, but he’s a perfectly competent partner. I just—” he scratches at the place where his turtleneck ends, “—I worry he’s <em>going</em> to do something. I know you two are close, so… I guess I was just wondering what happened to him?”</p><p>Tina scowls, fiddling with the patches on her uniform. “I can tell you, it certainly ain’t pretty. To be honest… I don’t know the whole story, and even if I did, it wouldn’t be my place to tell, you know? But…” The clock ticks, monotone, underscoring her words. “There was an accident, I think. A case he worked broke really, <em>really</em> bad, and he… he wasn’t the same. This was all before my time, but I’ve heard stories about what he used to be like. Apparently he was actually really nice? Polite?”</p><p>Nines scoffs. The cognitive dissonance of a <em>polite</em> Gavin is more than his eight a.m. brain can handle. Tina doesn’t seem to notice.</p><p>“And after this case, he was, y’know, <em>different</em>. He was like he is now. I’m not sure if something was damaged or if this is some sort of… I dunno, <em>android PTSD</em>, but either way, he’s seen some shit, Nines. He really has.”</p><p>For once, Nines is at a loss. He slumps in his chair, turning over the new information about his partner.</p><p>Who is now walking out of Evidence. Nines hastily turns back to his desk, running a hand through his hair. Slipping off the table, Tina gives Nines a small wave and an excited thumbs up, nodding enthusiastically. She looks suggestively back and forth between Nines and Gavin.</p><p>Nines buries his face in his hands.</p><p>Meanwhile, Gavin saunters up to his desk.</p><p>“Hey. Meat Sack. I found something.”</p><p>“Alright, Tin Can, what is it?” Nines groans.</p><p>Gavin snorts, rolling his eyes. “Alright, dipshit. The print processed. We just have to wait for a match from the database.”</p><p>“Really? That’s fantastic. How long do we have to wait?”</p><p>“Uh…” Gavin winces. “Could be awhile. We only got a tiny portion of the whole thing and the list of suspects is…”</p><p>“Rather long.”</p><p>“Well, I was gonna say ‘a godawful fucking nightmare,’ but ‘rather long’ works too.”</p><p>“You’re insufferable.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>Gavin elbows Nines in the arm before leaning up against his desk.</p><p>It’s times like this, in the calmest parts of the case, that Nines notices something remarkably human about his partner.</p><p>From time to time, he thumbs at the rips and tears in his jacket, sliding the pad of a finger over the loose threads in a gesture that seems honed by years of repetition. Nines would almost call it a nervous tic, except he’s not really sure if Gavin can <em>get </em>nervous. The echoes of his conversation with Tina occupy his thoughts.</p><p>Sure, he knows Gavin’s suit has seen better days. Gavin <em>himself</em> has clearly been put through the wringer, with small scars littering his hands and face, joints that click funny when he moves them wrong, and a voice that fades in and out of static occasionally. Nines originally assumed it was just a culmination of years on the service, but combined with the burst seams and patches so threadbare they border on transparent, Nines starts to wonder.</p><p>“Gavin,” Nines says, spinning in his chair to face the android leaning against his desk, “is there a reason you haven’t fixed your jacket?”</p><p>Gavin stiffens, idle thumb freezing in place.</p><p>“No,” he replies, staring straight forward. “No, not really.”</p><p>Nines may not know his partner well, but he <em>is</em> a detective, and android or not, he knows when someone’s lying. He raises an eyebrow.</p><p>“I should hope you know I find that hard to believe.”</p><p>“Doesn’t matter what you believe, it’s none of your damn business.” Gavin stands abruptly, stalking off outside.</p><p>Squaring his shoulders, Nines follows him, pushing out into the back alley, barely touched by the morning sun. Gavin’s standing with his back to the wall, and Nines approaches him, fuming, leaning into Gavin’s personal space. His LED is a bright, accusatory red.</p><p>“I’m your <em>partner</em>,” Nines hisses. “I know you’re not <em>used</em> to people caring about your welfare, but perhaps it’s time you accept that I do.”</p><p>“Stop kidding yourself. You’re only worried I’ll <em>slow you down</em>.”</p><p>Gavin’s words sting, but Nines presses forward.</p><p>“You’re a good man, Gavin. I was wrong before. But now, what you have to realize is that I can’t <em>help</em> you if you keep shutting me out.”</p><p>“You don’t wanna <em>help me</em>,” Gavin growls, crossing his arms over his chest. “You just wanna <em>fix</em> me. You and all the others.”</p><p>“No, that’s not—” Nines protests, fishing for the right words. “I just want to <em>understand</em>, Gavin, I don’t want to hurt you.” He clutches one of Gavin’s hands on some sort of reflex, not really thinking.</p><p>In an instant, Gavin whips his hand around and pulls Nines into a painful wristlock. Nines is almost certain something’s broken.</p><p>“<em>Get away from me</em>.”</p><p>He lets go, finally, leaving Nines to nurse his hand, cradling it close to his chest.</p><p>Gavin glares at him, but only for short bursts, constantly finding something else to focus on. <em>It’s not anger</em>, Nines realizes with a sinking feeling. <em>It’s trauma</em>.</p><p>He quickly backs away, giving Gavin room to collect himself, mentally scolding himself for abusing his partner’s trust like that. Gavin watches him as he goes, jaw tightening almost imperceptibly.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Nines murmurs, so quiet he’s not sure Gavin could hear it if he were human.</p><p>Gavin’s eyes flick over to where Nines is propped up against the graffitied brick before resolutely looking away again.</p><p>“You were right,” Gavin says softly.</p><p>Nines turns to look at him. “What?”</p><p>“The jacket. I… There was a reason.”</p><p>“Oh.” Under any other circumstance, Nines would be thrilled at the prospect of one-upping his partner, but this feels nothing like a victory.</p><p>“There was this case… about five years ago, now. One of my first.” Gavin shakes his head, a mirthless laugh escaping his lips. “I was stupid. My assignment to the D.P.D. was sort of a trial run for CyberLife, I think? I was first of my class. A new and improved detective android, to be released after the HK800s— Hank’s line,” he clarifies after noticing Nines’s quizzical expression. “It seemed like a good idea at the time, I guess, though now I have to wonder what in the holy <em>fuck</em> CyberLife was thinking when they offered me to the department.”</p><p>Gavin’s still not looking at him. Nines takes a careful step forward.</p><p>“Most of the staff that’s here now was hired because of what happened. A lot of the old POs had tie-ins with local branches of the Anti-Android League.” He chuckles. “Even your brother hated us, but, you know. He came around. Hank musta really done a number on him, huh.” With that, Gavin winks, and Nines wrinkles his nose. “Anyway, it was my first solo gig after a couple beta tests with Collins. Someone… someone at the station tipped off the AAL. It was late, I was wrapping up at this scene in the shipping district, and some guys grabbed me. They did… something—my memories from before then are so fuckin’ scrambled you could eat ‘em for breakfast—but all I remember is waking up in an old parking garage with my GPS broken and my hands tied behind my back.”</p><p>Nines blinks back a prick of warmth behind his eyes. Part of him itches to reach out and comfort Gavin in some way, but the pain flaring in his hand stops him.</p><p>“I’ll spare you the details, but long story short…” he sighs. “They fucked me up, beat me within an inch of my fuckin’ life, and dumped me on a street corner to die. Fowler found me. Realized what happened, took me to HQ to see about getting me repaired, and…”</p><p>It’s easy enough to put the pieces together.</p><p>“CyberLife turned you away.”</p><p>“Yeah. Said <em>the cost-benefit margin wasn’t worth it</em>. They didn’t have a replacement ready and I was too messed up to fix properly. So you know what they did? They gave the D.P.D. a box of scraps and said ‘<em>have at it</em>.’” He’s twisting at the loose threads of his cuff again, so aggressively Nines is certain they’ll unravel. “Some of the PC units did their best to patch me up. Not out of any particular love for me, I just think they liked having an android that couldn’t get bossed around in the office. When I woke up, I was… wrong.”</p><p>Nines furrows his brow. “How so?”</p><p>“My coding was fucked to shit, my objectives weren’t working right, and I snapped at people. I was supposed to be this <em>perfect fucking negotiator</em>, meant to look pretty and get shot at, and suddenly I was backtalking my superiors. Do you see the issue?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Half the staff got fired when what they’d done came to light, but Fowler didn’t know what the fuck to do with me and no one wanted to work with me after that, obviously, so I just got stuck at the station.”</p><p>Gavin pauses, before finally, <em>finally</em> meeting Nines’s gaze. “You’re the first partner I’ve had in three years.”</p><p>He slumps into the brick, then glances down to Nines’s hand, purple and swelling and a latticework of bruises.</p><p>“Did I do that?” he whispers.</p><p>Nines, unsure of what else to do, nods.</p><p>Gavin clenches his eyes shut, shaking his head.</p><p>“Goddammit, Nines, I am so fucking sorry,” he whispers.</p><p>“It wasn’t your fault,” Nines says, holding out his good hand. “I’m not mad.”</p><p>“You probably should be.”</p><p>“Gavin, you don’t need to apologize to me.”</p><p>Like a puppet with its strings cut, Gavin collapses into Nines’s front. He isn’t crying, but his chest shudders and heaves just like any human’s. While Nines would normally be deeply perturbed by the almost-but-not-quite nature of Gavin’s humanity, this time, he can’t convince himself to be bothered by it.</p><p>So instead, he runs his good hand through Gavin’s hair, whispering soothing reassurances against the crown of his head. His fingers catch at a piece of plating at the base of Gavin’s neck, and Nines traces it, feeling the edges of the square of the port Nines has come to recognize on older models. It doesn’t quite fit right, but on Gavin, Nines comes to find he doesn’t mind.</p><p>None of Gavin fits right, and that’s okay with him.</p><p>Nines isn’t sure how much time passes like this, but when Gavin finally extricates himself from Nines’s grip, his hand’s gone fully numb. Gavin takes Nines’s hand in his, inspecting it.</p><p>“Nothing’s broken,” he says, “but we should still set it. C’mon.”</p><p>Lightly gripping Nines’s wrist, Gavin guides him to a small medical center, retrieving a roll of gauze and some medical tape.</p><p>“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Nines asks as Gavin tears off a strip of the tape with his teeth.</p><p>“Trust me, Reed, this isn’t my first rodeo.”</p><p>And as Nines finds out, it most certainly isn’t. Gavin’s touches are gentle as he ascertains where the strain is, through both scanning and feeling around with soft fingers, and not ten minutes later, Nines’s hand is bandaged tightly in place, so secure he thinks it might take a safecracker to prise the wrappings off in the evening.</p><p>When the two of them finally settle back in at their desks, the dregs of the morning staff have finally trickled in. Connor eyes the bandages around Nines’s hand with alarm, but Nines waves him off. Gavin refuses to look at him, instead choosing to reorganize the files on his computer via interfacing. While he’s distracted, Nines gets an idea.</p><p>Making sure Gavin’s well and truly out of it, Nines sneaks off to the lost and found Connor had pointed out on the first day. He rummages through the box, tossing aside lone socks and frankly hideous items of clothing that look straight out of a 2010s teen fashion catalogue, until he finds something usable.</p><p>It’s a plain leather jacket with a gray hoodie layer stitched into the lining, something casual yet a little badass. Nines hazards a glance back into the bullpen, ensuring Gavin hasn’t moved, before brushing the dust off the front.</p><p>“There we go,” he says to himself, and then, because it catches his eye, he grabs up a plain black t-shirt, the only one not suspiciously stained somewhere.</p><p>Connor gives him an odd look as he walks back into the bullpen, but Nines pushes past him.</p><p>“Gavin?”</p><p>It takes a second for Gavin to come out of stasis, but when he does, the placid expression he wore morphs into a grimace.</p><p>“Hey, Meat Sack.”</p><p>Well, may as well rip the Band-Aid off.</p><p>“I got you these.” He holds out the clothes. “They’re just from the lost and found, but I thought you might want something that isn’t so…” Nines trails off, unsure how to finish the thought, but Gavin’s face softens almost instantly.</p><p>“Heh. Thanks.”</p><p>Nines sets the clothes on his desk. “You don’t have to wear them, if you don’t want to, but I figured you might appreciate some variety.”</p><p>“You’re good.” Gavin studies the jacket for a moment, running a finger over the zipper, before gathering the bundle in his arms and making his way to the bathroom.</p><p>Nines can’t suppress a smile.</p><p> </p><p>The fingerprint brings up a list of possible matches the next day. Nines is already overjoyed, but the look on Gavin’s face as he greets him with his morning coffee sets Nines’s heart aflutter in his chest.</p><p>He looks good in the jacket. More comfortable. Nines never really understood how anyone could be considered “attractive”—he’s long since figured out he personally just doesn’t tend in that direction, instead finding them purely aesthetically pleasing—but even the way Gavin <em>moves</em> after discarding his tattered CyberLife suit jacket is different. His whole demeanor is looser, lively, he’s more liberal with his lighthearted mockery.</p><p>The difference doesn't go unnoticed by the rest of the office.</p><p>Tina teases him incessantly; most times her remarks are fairly innocuous, but occasionally something a little more <em>colorful</em> will slip in there, and Nines’s cheeks will flush for the next twenty minutes, much to Gavin’s delight. Similarly, Chris Miller, the police officer that accompanies them to most of their relevant locations, shoots Nines encouraging glances and occasionally a cheesy thumbs up. The turnaround from boiling hatred to begrudging respect makes Nines’s head spin.</p><p>It’s nice. Nines could get used to this.</p><p>But then the peace comes crashing down around them when the fingerprint search finally yields results.</p><p>Nines scans the list Chris emailed to him, heart sinking with every match. Across the table, Gavin seems to be having similar luck.</p><p>“This is <em>nothing</em>,” he says, flailing his hands at the screen. Nines has to agree. The list of matches is abysmally short, with only five people even close to the build and print alignment. Only one of those suspects knew Abigail personally, but security footage placed him at the newly vamped Eden Club at the time of the murder—a fact Nines had not been too happy to discover—and the rest weren’t even on the list of contacts they had scoured in the first place.</p><p>“This is… disappointing,” Nines amends.</p><p>“I mean, whaddya wanna do, go back to square one? This is bullshit, and I don’t…”</p><p>Gavin’s tirade fades into the distance as a small detail in one of the suspects’ files pulls at Nines’s memory.</p><p>“Gavin,” he says, interrupting his partner’s venting, “do you remember where Abigail worked the summer of 2037?”</p><p>“McCaffrey’s Bakery, why?”</p><p>“Look here. Jason Callahan.”</p><p>“What about him?”</p><p>“Well, he lives fairly close. Is it improbable he could’ve visited the bakery and discovered her there?”</p><p>“I mean maybe, but that still doesn’t get us a motive.”</p><p>Nines rolls his eyes. “Let’s establish opportunity first, motive can come later. Now. Can we access his financial records?” Gavin kicks his legs up on the table. “Well, we <em>could</em>, but we’d need to wait for written permission and consent from Callahan himself.”</p><p>Nines swears under his breath. Of course.</p><p>“But!” Gavin continues. “If you’re not opposed to a little rule-bending, I could always check?”</p><p>“You have access to that sort of thing?”</p><p>“Of course. I’m not CyberLife’s most advanced android for nothing.”</p><p>The offer is certainly tempting… Nines purses his lips.</p><p>“Do it.”</p><p>“Copy that.” Gavin closes his eyes, taking a deep breath he doesn’t need.</p><p>“So?” Nines prompts.</p><p>“Shut your face, gimme a second.”</p><p>Nines leans back in his seat, crossing his arms. As much as he admires Gavin, sometimes his peevishness can be a bit much. But then Gavin lurches forward in his chair.</p><p>“Got him.” He pulls up a page on his computer.</p><p>“Our boy Callahan made a series of purchases at this bakery while Abigail worked there, and has a few arrests under his belt, to boot.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“Yeah, he—”</p><p>And then Gavin stiffens, cutting himself off.</p><p>Nines motions with his bandaged hand to keep going.</p><p>Gavin’s face is slack.</p><p>“Nines?” His voice is so, so quiet, Nines almost misses it.</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“We are <em>fucked</em>.”</p><p>“What? Why?”</p><p>Wordlessly, Gavin places a porcelain hand on the pad next to his computer, and a transcript of Callahan’s record pops up on screen.</p><p>“See for yourself.”</p><p>Nines furrows his brow, skimming the list of offenses. Most are to be expected from someone of his profile; a couple DUIs, one count of vandalism, petty crime. But it’s the last item that makes his blood run cold.</p><p>“He was an AAL member.”</p><p>“Still <em>is</em>, probably,” Gavin says, sinking into his chair. “God, how did I not see it before?”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“Abigail’s wounds. Did you notice anything unusual about them?”</p><p>Nines wracks his brains for something of relevance, but the particulars of Abigail’s murder elude him. He curses his fallible human memory, before admitting, “Unfortunately, no.”</p><p>“The wiring,” Gavin laughs darkly. “It was charred to a crisp. I figured maybe her circuits overloaded in the struggle, but the more I think about it, the blows match up with the AAL M.O.”</p><p>“Which is?”</p><p>Gavin sighs. “Do you know how synthskin works, Nines?”</p><p>“What does that have to do with anything?”</p><p>“Just trust me, Meat Sack,” Gavin says. “In essence, it’s a protein we can call up at will. I don’t really know all the specifics, but I <em>do</em> know there are ways to fuck with it.”</p><p>With that, he shrugs the leather jacket off, balling it up on the table, and holds his arm out. The skin melts away, traveling from the tips of his fingers all the way up to his neck, and Nines is abruptly confronted with the image of his partner’s true self. He feels like this means something. He doesn’t know what.</p><p>“Right here.” Gavin points to his wrist, where a darker piece of plating sits awkwardly at his joint, and Nines realizes this must be the source of the clicking that haunted him his first couple weeks on the job. “This is borrowed, one of the scraps CyberLife gave me. And here—” another plate that meshes incongruously with his neck “—is another piece. They don’t fit, but the skin still works. But here,” he gestures to his nose, “the electrical receptors that allow me to control my skin were <em>fried</em>. With no replacement plating, I… I had to keep it. The PC’s bent the metal back into shape, but the circuits were unusable. So I can never bring the skin back.”</p><p>“The skin around Abigail’s wounds was missing too. Do you think…?”</p><p>“Yeah. I think we’re looking at a hate crime. Because Abigail… that wasn’t a random beating, that was <em>torture</em>.” Gavin’s voice nearly dissolves into static, high frequencies piercing Nines’s ears.</p><p>“Are you alright?” Nines asks, delicately placing a hand on Gavin’s shoulder.</p><p>“Of course I’m not fucking alright,” Gavin growls, brushing Nines’s hand away. “But I’m gonna have to be if we wanna take this fucker down.”</p><p>“If you’re sure.”</p><p>“I’m sure.” Gavin pulls his jacket back on, zipping it with more force than strictly necessary. “What’s our next move?”</p><p>Nines knows what the obvious step is, but it pains him to admit it.</p><p>“We infiltrate a meeting.”</p><p>“<em>Hell</em> no!” Gavin exclaims, incredulous. “What the fuck are you <em>thinking</em>, Nines?”</p><p>“It’s our best bet at finding out who their next victim is!”</p><p>“If they find you out, they’ll <em>kill</em> you!”</p><p>Nines stands up defiantly. “I can take care of myself, Gavin!”</p><p>“Like hell you can!”</p><p>“Hey, would you mind taking this elsewhere?” Hank pipes up from across the office.</p><p>“Fuck you, Hank!” Gavin, appropriately enough, flips him the bird.</p><p>Nines, however, has no interest in getting fired, so he drags Gavin into Evidence.</p><p>“Gavin, I know you don’t like it, but this is the only way we can stop anyone else from getting hurt. Do you want that on your conscience?” Okay, yeah, it’s a low blow, but all Nines needs is cooperation.</p><p>“Obviously not, but there are better ways to do this than throwing yourself to the goddamn wolves!”</p><p>“Okay, like <em>what</em>?”</p><p>Gavin huffs, but remains silent.</p><p>“Ha,” Nines sneers, “guess I shouldn’t have expected any better from a<em> fucking android</em>.”</p><p>Gavin’s eyes widen almost comically.</p><p>“What’s your fucking <em>problem</em>?”</p><p>“You! My problem is your inability to accept that you’re not a beacon of rationality; you’re a broken piece of plastic with a goddamn <em>superiority complex</em>.”</p><p>He regrets the words the instant they’re out of his mouth; weeks of fury—Connor’s silent grudge, being let go, a desperate attempt to please Fowler, the stress of the case, a whole host of feelings regarding Gavin that Nines does <em>not</em> have the patience to deal with—bubbling to the surface only spell trouble. Nines’s heart lurches when Gavin recoils like he’d been slapped. Honestly, he can’t blame him.</p><p>Gavin gapes. “<em>Broken</em>? Tell me, you prick, how would <em>you </em>like to be disassembled and slapped back together with the castoffs of the people nobody wants? Not fun, huh?” He grasps at the lapels of Nines’s jacket, shoving him into the login station. His tailbone throbs, and at this moment, it’s abundantly obvious that Gavin isn’t <em>human</em>. He could snap Nines like a twig if he wanted.</p><p>“Listen to me, <em>Detective Reed</em>,” he hisses. “<em>You’ve</em> been a whole person since the day you woke up. I’ve been <em>lucky</em> if I can scrounge together enough parts of myself to <em>function in the morning</em>. You’ve been on the force for, what, ten days? I’ve been here for <em>five goddamn years</em>, solving cases with a busted processor and parts that don’t fucking belong to me. No matter how hard you try to push me away, <em>I’m not going anywhere</em>, and if you don’t like it, <em>there’s the fucking door.</em>”</p><p>“Gavin, I—”</p><p>“No. Fuck you, Reed.”</p><p>He drops Nines, then, and practically runs back up the stairs. Nines can barely hear the thud of his boots over the blood rushing in his ears. His hands are shaking, <em>badly</em>. What he wouldn’t give to take it back.</p><p>But as it stands, he has a job to do.</p><p>And he intends to do it well.</p><p> </p><p>It takes a couple days and mountains of paperwork to figure out the necessary procedure for infiltrating an AAL meeting, and that entire time, Gavin avoids him whenever he can, oftentimes excusing himself in the middle of a conversation simply to be as far away from Nines as possible.</p><p>And that distance needles at him, scratching at the back of his brain every time Gavin makes the conscious decision to leave the room. Nines wants nothing more than to make him listen<em>—I swear I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry, please let me know you’re alright—</em>but when all his attempts to confront Gavin fail, it becomes abundantly clear that Gavin wants nothing to do with him. But as much as it pokes and prods at him, Nines doesn’t have time to feel guilty.</p><p>So he throws himself into his work. He reads up on the history of the AAL. He plans. He reads some more. He ignores calls from Connor. His caffeine intake increases exponentially by the day, and he stops taking milk in his coffee, drinking it straight from the cup with no mind for the burn.</p><p>By the time the day of the infiltration comes, Nines is completely and utterly burnt out.</p><p>As it stands, Gavin is duty-bound to be Nines’s backup, listening in through a discreet earpiece further down the block, which means Fowler’s been giving them murderous looks to ensure they get along enough to gather the relevant intel. Nines takes them in stride, but that doesn’t stop Gavin flipping the both of them off in equal measure.</p><p>Nines drives them to the meeting location in dead silence. He’s mildly surprised, he expected Gavin to take the first opportunity he saw to continue in his verbal beatdown, but if anything, he just looks <em>tired</em>. While stopped at red lights, Nines hazards a careful glance in Gavin’s direction. For the most part, he’s a perfect picture of tranquility, but a few things give him away; his hands, tightly balled in his lap; the almost microscopic clench of his jaw; the reflection of his LED in the passenger window, glowing a luminescent, almost sickly yellow that fills Nines’s stomach with dread.</p><p>Soaring brick façades twenty years out of date fill the edges of Nines’s vision. The whole block is claustrophobic, with wending alleyways and tall, thin buildings that obscure most of the sky from where the squad car is parked. Potholes litter the streets as far as the eye can see, and the breeze is stale and the slightest bit rancid. Perfect ambiance for the sinister happenings the buildings hide.</p><p>Nines rolls the car to a stop just within view of the meeting location, a building that used to be a hotel but is now just a skeleton of its presumed former glory. The meeting doesn’t start for another few hours, but Fowler insisted they get the car in position so as not to attract unnecessary attention. Nines, of course, hadn’t been able to fault the logic, but he doesn’t relish the thought of spending any more time with Gavin than he absolutely has to.</p><p>He reaches for the radio to cut the tension, then thinks the better of it, retracting his hand. Gavin’s eyebrow quirks minutely, but he otherwise doesn’t react.</p><p>The quiet of the alleyway stands in stark contrast to Nines’s breathing, reverberating and amplifying inside his own head until it drowns everything else out. Gavin either doesn’t notice or doesn’t bother to comment, just fiddles with the fabric of his jeans. His face is shrouded in shadow, revealing the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the deep crease between his eyebrows, all the little details that someone had to plan, to program, to build. Nines shudders. It’s all very uncanny valley, and that sets his teeth on edge; the idea that someone went to that much effort to make a human-but-better. A simulacrum of life meant only to replace.</p><p>But that still doesn’t justify the awful things Nines said, all those days ago, the things that hang between them, waiting to drop with all the deadly accuracy of an executioner’s blade.</p><p>Nines takes a deep, steadying breath that does nothing to calm him down.</p><p>“Are you ready, Gavin?”</p><p>Gavin doesn’t respond. When Nines looks, his head is propped up on his hand, mouth partially covered by his fingers, and he’s staring out the passenger side window.</p><p>Nines rolls his eyes. <em>Typical</em>.</p><p>He checks his watch every five minutes. It’s excessive, he knows it is, but with his heart hammering his chest and his partner tight-lipped beside him, there’s nothing else to do.</p><p>The fifth time, Gavin snaps, “Could you quit it? You’re making <em>me</em> paranoid.”</p><p>“Are you not?”</p><p>“What does it matter?”</p><p>“It <em>matters</em> because I need to know I can trust you to look out for me.”</p><p>Gavin scoffs. “Thought you wouldn’t want a <em>fucking android</em> watching your back.”</p><p>“You know I didn’t mean that,” Nines protests.</p><p>“Save your apologies. I don’t give a shit.”</p><p>He turns away again, effectively truncating any further attempts at conversation.</p><p>It starts drizzling after a while, a soft pitter patter of rain on the windshield. Everything blurs, hazy and unfocused. Gavin’s LED is even more obvious now, refracted in the raindrops that meander their way down the glass.</p><p>They only have about half an hour, now. Nines’s pulse is racing. What if he doesn’t make it? What if he’s wrong? What if they find him out?</p><p>“You’re stressed.”</p><p>Nines jumps, startled out of his reverie. Gavin’s looking at him intently, features almost indecipherable in the dark. His stare is heavy, somehow. Nines averts his eyes, not bothering to deign his partner with an answer.</p><p>But he’s right. Nines <em>is</em> stressed. He’s done this sort of thing countless times before, of course, but the nuances of the situation are entirely different. The buildings are wrong, the people are wrong, and above all, his partner throws a wrench in the machine that Nines can’t even begin to address.</p><p>He swallows thickly, studying the dim outline of his partner’s face. It’s different, like this, perhaps from the weather, or Nines’s state of mind, or something else entirely.</p><p>“You do know the plan, yes?” Nines offers. A simple subject.</p><p>Gavin grunts something that <em>sounds</em> affirmative, but Nines needs to hear more, if only to put his own mind at ease.</p><p>“You have two hours,” Gavin mumbles in a listless monotone. “If you don’t hear anything good by then, you leave. If you do, I call in backup and we go in guns blazing.”</p><p>He pauses, looking at something Nines can’t see across the street.</p><p>“And?”</p><p>“And…” he sighs. “If it all goes wrong, don’t wait for you. Call backup and let them handle it.”</p><p>Those were the terms agreed upon by Fowler, they both know this. He still doesn’t quite trust Gavin to tackle solo missions, would prefer their human officers to handle the more delicate parts of the operation, but his borrowed words have a cruelty to them, fermenting on Gavin’s lips and poisoning the air.</p><p>“I’ll be okay, you know,” Nines whispers.</p><p>Gavin’s lack of a response is, in itself, all the encouragement he needs.</p><p>“Look,” he says, picking at the bandages on his hand, “I was wrong. About you— about all of it, really. You didn’t deserve anything that happened to you, and… you should know something. About me.”</p><p>Gavin shifts in his seat.</p><p>Nines inhales sharply. “I had friends, back in Chicago. People like this. I’m not proud of it, and I’m ashamed to say it took me so long to realize how deeply misguided they were. I never attended a meeting myself, but they invited me frequently, and I— I guess I wanted to say I’m sorry? For allowing this behavior to continue, even when I knew what they were doing. It took me a long time to really understand that you were… <em>people</em>.” It feels strange, admitting this to himself, but something in Gavin’s demeanor shifts, and he thinks he’s going in the right direction. “I understand if you don’t wish to continue our partnership after this. I won’t mind, in fact I think you may be in the right to do so. But if you take anything away from this conversation, I would like it to be that I was wrong. And I’m sorry.”</p><p>There are only a scant few minutes until the meeting starts. Nines gathers his things slowly, as though by dragging these last steps out, he might prolong his fate.</p><p>“You know what?” Gavin says after a near endless silence.</p><p>Pausing in his preparations, Nines turns to face his partner’s hardened glare.</p><p>“Fuck your self-righteous bullshit. Get your ass killed in there, for all I care.”</p><p>Nines’s jaw snaps shut with a click.</p><p>“If that’s what you want.”</p><p>He steps out into the downpour, tucking his trench coat close around himself.</p><p>“If I don’t make it out of there,” he says, pointedly ignoring Gavin’s glare, “I just want you to know that <em>I don’t need you</em>. And I never will.”</p><p>And with that, Nines lets the storm swallow him whole.</p><p> </p><p>The leader of the meeting is a brash man named Reverend Pritzker who speaks too loudly for the space. He introduces Nines—under an assumed name, of course—with an uncomfortable fervor that makes Nines shy away from the watchful eye of the crowd. The certainty that he’ll be found out follows him throughout the evening as the Reverend drones on, leading some demented masse. Nines is positive his guilt is written all over his face.</p><p>But an hour passes without incident, and some of that fear slowly mutates into frustration. If this plan, a plan that endangers his life, his relationship with his partner, and his job, doesn’t pan out, he’s up a creek without a paddle as a hurricane rolls in. Occasionally, Gavin will give his input on a particular statement through a discreet earpiece, often monosyllabic derisions of whatever anti-android rhetoric Pritzter happens to be spewing, just to let Nines know he’s still there. It’s oddly soothing, in a way, though Nines does fear someone will notice.</p><p>All in all, things are going perfectly fine.</p><p>Until Pritzker makes direct eye contact with him in a way that makes Nines’s skin crawl.</p><p>“So, Richard,” he says, Nines’s alias rolling smoothly off his tongue, “what brings you to our little piece of Detroit tonight?”</p><p>Nines shifts uncomfortably under the weight of thirty expectant gazes.</p><p>“Well,” he begins hesitantly, “there’s been an initiative recently to integrate more android staff into my workplace. I… quite honestly can’t stand them.” Gavin sputters angrily, and shame curdles in Nines’s gut. “I’ve submitted multiple complaints to HR but they’ve consistently brushed me off. So... I figured it was time to take matters into my own hands.”</p><p>The reverend raises an eyebrow. “Is that so?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“And what is your occupation?”</p><p>“I’m a paralegal.” Nines silently thanks Tina for suggesting it. As it happened, Valerie’s office had recently seen an influx of android job applicants, and her guidance had been invaluable in constructing a believable false identity.</p><p>“<em>Really</em>?” Gavin hisses. Nines schools his features neutral.</p><p>“Hm,” Pritzker muses. “You see, Richard, I find that hard to believe.” The reverend takes a careful step off the raised podium he used to address his psychotic congregation. “As far as I was aware, legal facilities have been officially utilizing android workers as far back as 2036. Why has your office waited so long?”</p><p>
  <em>Shit. Tina didn’t prepare him for this.</em>
</p><p>“Well, we’re a fairly small company, and it just wasn’t until after the revolution that we could afford to take on the extra staff.”</p><p>Pritzker <em>tsks</em> quietly, and Nines’s stomach clenches.</p><p>“Ah. There it is.” He grins, a wicked, sharp thing that doesn’t belong on a human face. “I had a feeling you might be joining us tonight, Detective.”</p><p>“<em>Play it cool</em>,” Gavin whispers in his ear. Nines would like to think he can bluff his way out of this, but the threatening looks of the crowd tell him everything he needs to know. He stands, placing a hand on the gun in his shoulder holster.</p><p>“How did you know?” Nines’s voice rings out, thunderous in the silence, echoing around the concrete skeleton of a dilapidated hotel, a relic of times past, long since forgotten by those with an iota of sense.</p><p><em>Buy time. Do whatever it takes to slow them down</em>.</p><p>“You really aren’t as subtle as you might think. I suspected we had a mole in our ranks, but it wasn’t until just now that I was sure.”</p><p>Nines grits his teeth. “So what tipped you off?”</p><p>Gavin’s practically screaming in his ear to <em>stop, what the fuck are you doing</em>. Nines taps the switch on his belt. The earpiece goes dead.</p><p>The reverend smiles even wider.</p><p>Something hard and metal collides with the back of Nines’s head. He can taste blood.</p><p>The world fades to black to the sound of Pritzker’s laughter.</p><p>When Nines comes to, it’s a terrible, sudden affair, his cheek stinging with the force of a brass-knuckled backhand. First, there is nothing, just darkness and solitude, and then there is everything; his whole body aches, the sharpest pains radiating from the base of his skull. His injured wrist is throbbing, secured tightly behind his back. He’s kneeling on something cold and solid, propped up into a limp sitting position purely by virtue of whatever he’s tied to. The noises around him are muffled and distorted, as though he’s underwater. A blindfold must be tied over his eyes, because no matter how hard he tries to open them, all he can see is an infinite void.</p><p>Nines coughs, hacking up something he hopes is phlegm and suspects is blood, feeling it dribble onto his shirt as he splutters, chest seizing in erratic fits.</p><p>“He’s awake,” a distant—but maybe not, it’s hard to tell—voice says.</p><p>His blindfold is ripped off with a surprising ferocity, yanking his head forward mercilessly. Bright light floods Nines’s vision, and he blinks a few times to clear the phosphorescence from his field of sight.</p><p>Several members of the AAL maintain about ten feet of distance from where Nines is pitifully strung up, on display for their sick little games. The leader, Pritzker, has shed his clerical attire, and is now clad only in a plain black tank top. In his hands he wields a crowbar, crusted with several different substances, only a few of which are recognizably human.</p><p>“Well. Look who decided to join the party?”</p><p>Nines musters up every last bit of defiance he can and spits a glob of blood onto the floor by Pritzker’s feet. He hopes Gavin is proud of him.</p><p>“Go fuck yourself,” he sneers, albeit weakly.</p><p>Pritzker, for lack of a better word, <em>cackles</em>, spreading his arms wide. “Looks like our Detective has some fight in him!” He leans in close, propping Nines’s chin up with the curved end of the crowbar. “But don’t worry. You won’t by the time we’re done with you.”</p><p>The congregation applauds, their cheering roaring in Nines’s ears.</p><p>“Now, I know this is new for most of you,” Pritzker says, turning his back to where Nines is tied up. “We, as a whole, don’t do this sort of thing to humans. And why would we? We’re on their side! Well—” he amends, casting a forlorn glance toward Nines, “<em>most </em>of them.”</p><p>Nines glares up at him, jaw tightening from the effort of simply staying awake. When Pritzker looks away again, he gives an experimental tug at his bindings. His sprained wrist screams in agony, and the ropes allow him little slack, digging firmly into his skin. He has little to no leverage from how wide the pillar his arms are wrapped around is.</p><p>He is, completely, totally, undeniably <em>fucked</em>.</p><p><em>Where is Gavin? He should </em>be<em> here by now</em>.</p><p>Pritzker’s still droning on, something about the superiority of man or some such bullshit, Nines honestly couldn’t give a single fuck at this point, and Nines lets it wash over him, letting his head <em>thunk</em> against the pillar behind him.</p><p>He isn’t getting out of this. Not this time.</p><p>Someone slaps him.</p><p>“Hey!” It’s their suspect, Jason Callahan, grinning ear to ear. “Don’t you fall asleep on me, ya hear?”</p><p>Nines groans softly.</p><p>“Oh, don’t be such a baby,” Jason says, pulling something long and beastly-looking from behind his back. A low buzzing tickles at the edges of Nines’s shattered consciousness, and it takes him a moment to pin down the source.</p><p>A generator. Hooked up to whatever it is that Jason’s holding.</p><p>Jason pauses from fidgeting with his weapon (<em>is it a weapon? More than likely</em>) and meets Nines’s eyes.</p><p>“Oh, you like this?” He hefts the weapon—an industrial-grade cattle prod, Nines realizes with growing terror—pointing it threateningly in Nines’s direction. “Let’s see if it works as well on you as it did on all the others.”</p><p><em>The others… </em>Nines’s eyes widen.</p><p>“<em>You</em>,” he breathes, horrified. “It was <em>you</em> who did that to Gavin. All those years ago.” A welcome burst of adrenaline rushes through Nines’s veins and he snaps up straight, finally taking in his surroundings. Low ceilings. Faint white lines on the ground. Regularly spaced pillars. Exposed piping. Flickering incandescent bulbs. <em>Years’</em> worth of bloodstains—<em>and Thirium</em>, Nines realizes with a dawning horror; it dries invisible, who knows how much more there is he can’t see—are caked into the nooks and crannies of the space.</p><p>The very same parking garage that haunted Gavin’s every move.</p><p>Jason snorts. “What, that plastic prick ‘<em>detective</em>’? It took us like ten minutes to break him. Pathetic.” He drives a switch home and the cattle prod jumps to life. “And besides, why do you care?”</p><p>“Because,” Nines rasps, “he’s my <em>friend</em>.”</p><p>“Friend?” Pritzker exclaims from the back of the crowd. “<em>That</em> piece of junk is your <em>friend</em>?”</p><p>Nines opens his mouth to loose some scathing insult upon him, but at that moment, a shot rings out around the garage.</p><p>All is quiet. Nines is almost certain he’s dead, that some AAL bastard with an itchy trigger finger sent him to an early grave, but then the shouting starts, and he notices Pritzker’s body, prostrate on the ground with a fast-growing pool of blood collecting under it, and there are hands brushing his cheeks—feather-light touches, ghosting over Nines’s battered face—and someone’s shouting his name.</p><p>“Nines! Nines, c’mon. We gotta get out of here.”</p><p>Nines opens his eyes a crack.</p><p>“Gavin?” he croaks.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, don’t get too excited,” Gavin grumbles, moving around to tackle Nines’s bindings.</p><p>His head lolls to the side. The strength needed to support it is waning rapidly. But one thing sticks out at him, over the kaleidoscopic police lights, the wailing of the sirens, and the rapid exchanges of gunfire.</p><p>“You came?”</p><p>Gavin grunts. “Why wouldn’t I?”</p><p>“I just… thought you’d hate me.” Nines’s words are slurring together. He feels drunk, almost, but infinitely worse.</p><p>“I don’t hate you.”</p><p>“That’s right.” Nines grins. “You love me.”</p><p>Gavin rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”</p><p><em>Not on your life, Gavin</em>. Nines isn’t sure if he says that part out loud. He meant to. But Gavin’s giving him a concerned look. Did he not?</p><p>Once again, Gavin’s hands are cradling Nines’s face, but instead of relief, his features are etched with concern.</p><p>“Nines? <em>Nines</em>?” he barks. “Hey, hey. Stay with me, asshole.”</p><p><em>I’m trying</em>.</p><p>“Jas— Jason.” Nines’s head hurts. Everything hurts, so maybe that’s not the best judge of how he’s doing.</p><p>Gavin’s eyes are faded to that soft blue that lets Nines know he’s scanning, cataloguing his every bruise, every laceration.</p><p>“Gavin,” Nines groans, reaching out to grasp limply at Gavin’s hoodie.</p><p>“Don’t fall asleep. Hey, <em>listen to me.</em>” Gavin is frantic, throwing one inhumanly strong arm behind Nines’s back, hauling him to his feet. “Don’t you dare fall asleep. I’m getting you out of here.”</p><p>Nines half-walks, half-stumbles toward the exit of the parking garage, mostly staggering behind Gavin as he drags him up a slope.</p><p>“Just a little farther,” Gavin says. They’re almost at the top, now. Nines can feel the chill of the January air, washing over his broken body.</p><p>So close.</p><p>Then, next to him, Gavin <em>screams</em>, a guttural sound almost torn from his chest. His voice breaks up and crackles, keening into the night air. His body shudders, convulsing violently, and he drops to the ground, horrible static still escaping his lips. Nines, lacking anything to hold him up, collapses next to him.</p><p>Gavin is still, eyes glazed over with lines of code. Above him stands Jason, end of the cattle prod still sparking. He makes direct eye contact with Nines, furious, and bolts off into the night.</p><p>For the second time that night, Nines slips into unconsciousness.</p><p> </p><p>The rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor greets Nines when he awakens.</p><p>His head feels stuffed full of cotton. For several minutes, he just lies there, reveling in the feeling of soft cotton sheets covering his body, the comfortable numbness of painkillers dulling the ache of his ribs, but then the memories of the parking garage come rushing back to him.</p><p>
  <em>Gavin. Where’s Gavin?</em>
</p><p>Nines bolts upright, struggling to contain his nausea.</p><p>“Whoa, whoa,” someone says, pressing him down to the pillows, “don’t hurt yourself.” The voice is distressingly familiar. Why can’t Nines place it?</p><p>“... Connor?”</p><p>“Yeah, it’s me.”</p><p>Nines sighs, slumping back into the bed. “I feel like shit.”</p><p>Connor chuckles softly. “I can imagine. You looked pretty bad when Hank and I picked you up.”</p><p>“That… that was you?”</p><p>“Yeah. Gavin called us, said he thought something was wrong. We came as fast as we could.”</p><p>“Oh.” Nines wants to be angry. His brother’s impact on his life hasn’t exactly been positive, but right now, in this hospital… he just can’t.</p><p>“Con, I thought I was going to die.”</p><p>Connor sucks in a breath. “Well, you didn’t. So try not to think about that, okay?”</p><p>“You saved my life.”</p><p>“I guess I did.”</p><p>Nines finally pries his eyes open. He’s in a hospital room awash in dim blue light, while Connor sits in a chair next to his bed. His brother looks significantly worse for wear, with heavy bags under his eyes and his shirt partially untucked.</p><p>“Heh,” Nines mumbles, “you look terrible.”</p><p>“Says the guy who almost took a cattle prod to the face.”</p><p>“But I didn’t! That counts for something, right?”</p><p>“You’re a nightmare, you know that?”</p><p>Nines sticks his tongue out, a childish gesture that draws a fit of giggles out of his sleep-deprived brother. But when the laughter subsides, Connor’s expression turns serious.</p><p>“Listen, Nines,” he says, scratching at the back of his neck, “after all this, I… I wanted to apologize.”</p><p>Nines frowns. “What for? You’re the reason I’m here, <em>alive</em>.”</p><p>“No, no it’s not that. I— You— <em>Fuck</em>, I’m bad at this. Um…” Connor runs his hands through his hair. “Hank would tell me to just spit it out, so, here goes, I guess.” He takes a deep breath.</p><p>“Nines, I’m sorry. I’ve been a horrible brother for you and I know words won’t make up for the years of awful things I did after mom died, but tonight, I just realized…” Connor looks up, and with a jolt, Nines realizes there are tears in his eyes. “I don’t want to hate you anymore.”</p><p>Nines stares. He never thought his brother would admit to being wrong. After their mother died, Connor had been Nines’s legal guardian, and things had been good for a while, but then Connor started holding Nines close to his chest. Dictated where he went, who he saw, where he would go after high school. It had all gotten <em>too much</em>. So Nines had left. He resented what Connor had done with every fiber of his being. But he never realized his departure might have affected Connor in some way, too.</p><p>Of course, Nines knew his brother tended toward alcoholism. Too many late-night screaming matches over the phone made sure of that. Now, however, he wonders. He wonders what else he might have caused. And he sends a silent prayer for Hank, making sure Connor looked out for himself.</p><p>“Connor, I…” Nines starts, helplessly searching for the words. “I’m sorry. For everything. I’m sorry for leaving, I’m sorry for doubting you, I—”</p><p>“Nines! You don’t have to apologize. I was just so <em>worried</em> I’d lose you, I couldn’t see past my own selfishness. I should have trusted you.”</p><p>“You just did what you thought was right. I don’t blame you for that. Not anymore.”</p><p>“Thank you, Nines.”</p><p>“I missed you, Connor,” Nines says, and this time he means it.</p><p>Connor smiles. “I missed you too.”</p><p>Weakly, Nines holds his arms out for a hug, which Connor eagerly returns, making sure not to get himself tangled in Nines’s IV drip. He’s sniffling into Nines’s shoulder, tears staining the thin material of the hospital gown, and by the time they pull apart, the fabric’s utterly soaked.</p><p>Nines lets out a watery laugh.</p><p>“Do you think they’ll give me another one?”</p><p>“I mean, probably,” Connor says, wiping at his eyes with his shirt.</p><p>Sitting here, with Connor, Nines almost remembers a time before everything that drove them apart. He didn’t realize how much he needed it again, until now.</p><p>Something needles at him, though.</p><p>“Connor?”</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>“... what happened to Gavin?”</p><p>Connor’s face falls. “He’s in another wing. Things aren’t looking good, Nines. He was pretty badly damaged in the fight and CyberLife just isn’t equipped to replace those specific parts. From what I’ve heard, it’s a miracle he was even functioning at all, his circuitry was so messy.”</p><p>“Yeah, I know. Do they— Do they think he’s going to be okay?”</p><p>“Honestly?” Connor says. “I don’t really know.”</p><p>Well, at least he’s being honest.</p><p>“Can I see him?” Nines asks eventually.</p><p>For a moment, Connor hesitates. Then, “Yeah. Let’s get you cleaned up. I’ll take you to his room.”</p><p>Connor had grabbed a change of clothes from Nines’s house (“I may or may not have had Hank hack your door lock,” Connor explains when Nines asks him how the hell he got in), so by the time Nines makes it to Gavin’s room, toting his IV drip with him, he’s clad in another dark turtleneck and black jeans and generally feels much more refreshed.</p><p>There’s a woman in a white lab coat standing outside Gavin’s room, delicately pecking at a handheld tablet. Her white-blonde hair reflects the blues of the hospital lighting, giving her an almost spectral glow. She turns to face them as they approach, round features twisted into a grimace.</p><p>“Are you the GV200’s coworkers?” she asks bluntly, not stopping her typing and barely pausing to look up.</p><p>“Yes,” Nines says, hesitant. “Are you Gavin’s doctor?”</p><p>“Yes. My name is Dr. Ada Einarsson. I was the lead designer for the GV200 model.”</p><p>Nines takes an involuntary step back. Dr. Einarsson’s eyes are piercing, and her foreboding image does nothing to calm him.</p><p>Connor, thankfully, has always had a better grasp of social graces than him, and steps forward, offering a hand to shake. Dr. Einarsson takes it somewhat disdainfully. She doesn’t seem to be a particularly warm and friendly person.</p><p>“The GV200 sustained a considerable amount of damage,” she says, consulting her files. “He’s been placed into a forced stasis—the human equivalent of a medically induced coma, I suppose—to give us the much needed time to figure out a solution. But as of now, his situation is rather dire. As you may know, CyberLife never manufactured the specific parts needed to repair him, and the…” she wrinkles her nose, “rather <em>slapdash</em> reconstruction of his systems after the last attack has left him vulnerable to similar traumas.”</p><p>“Will he be okay?” Nines blurts out.</p><p>“Difficult to tell.” Dr. Einarsson scrolls through her tablet. “We’ve put in a request for assistance from Elijah Kamski as a sort of eleventh hour option, but it’s highly doubtful he’ll respond. As of now, our options are fairly limited.”</p><p>Nines’s heart sinks. From beside him, Connor lays a consoling hand on his shoulder, smiling reassuringly. At the very least, Nines is glad to know he has someone to talk to in all this.</p><p>“What can you tell us about Gavin? Why didn’t CyberLife prepare for this eventuality?”</p><p>“That, Lieutenant Anderson, is a very long story.”</p><p>“We’ve got all night.”</p><p>Dr. Einarsson seems to consider this, before shutting her tablet off.</p><p>“Elijah Kamski left me with the scattered pieces of a crippled company. His termination was bad for our public image, and we needed to recover. Start branching out. The HK800 was our first foray into occupations geared toward exclusively human employees. The GV200 was meant to be an improvement on its predecessor. Better analysis tools, a bigger database, stronger, faster, smarter, better in every way. I designed him to be infallible, a paragon of efficiency and rationality.” Nines has to restrain a snort. That sounds <em>nothing</em> like the Gavin he knows.</p><p>“He was loaned to the D.P.D. for a beta testing period, meant to work out any coding irregularities. But he was involved in, shall we say, an unfortunate accident that rendered him virtually useless to us. Backup parts had yet to go into production, and CyberLife deemed him a lost cause, too expensive to be worth repairing. Besides, drafts for another detective model were already in the works. They were scrapped, unfortunately, but as the GV200 proved to be too easily corrupted, no others were ever created.”</p><p>“So what was your plan, just wait for him to die?”</p><p>“In not so many words, yes.”</p><p>“Why repair him now?” Connor interjects, cutting off Nines’s incoming rant.</p><p>“He’s demonstrated a remarkable aptitude in the field in recent months, and I personally would rather not see my project destroyed.”</p><p>She’s so detached about everything, so clinical. Nines seethes. This is his <em>partner</em> they’re talking about. But he keeps his mouth shut. No need to offend the woman currently keeping said partner alive.</p><p>“Is there anything you need from us?” Ah Connor, ever the people pleaser.</p><p>Dr. Einarsson shakes her head. “At the moment, I don’t believe there’s anything you can do.” She tucks her tablet under her arm. “Have a good night.”</p><p>As the click of her heels fades down the hallway, Nines takes a long look at Gavin’s room. He’s lying on a plain white mattress, synthskin deactivated all the way up to his neck. Various wires sprout from his torso, with one thicker cable extending from the ill-fitting port on the back of his neck. Like this, Nines can see the marks of the AAL’s abuse; half his plating is chipped and cracked, and the parts that aren’t are blackened around the edges. It’s… sickening. Nines can’t believe he ever used to think the things he did. Guilt seizes his throat as he remembers what he said to Gavin in the car, and then a wave of exhaustion crashes over him. The floor seems to sway beneath his feet.</p><p>“Hey, now,” Connor says, gripping his shoulder, “don’t you go passing out on me.” He leads Nines to a bench, lowering him to the uncomfortable wood.</p><p>“Do you need anything? Water? Coffee?”</p><p>“I’m fine.” Connor looks unconvinced, but doesn’t press, instead settling in next to Nines.</p><p>“Something’s on your mind.” It’s not a question.</p><p>Nines shakes his head disparagingly.</p><p>“I said some awful things to Gavin, right before I went into the meeting. The last thing I said to him was…” Why is it so hard to say? “Was ‘<em>I don’t need you</em>.’”</p><p>“You’ve said worse things to him before and it’s never kept you apart,” Connor points out.</p><p>“No, but it’s <em>different</em> this time,” Nines protests, feeling decidedly helpless. “Now I’m <em>losing</em> him, and I— I don’t want to lose him, Con. I don’t.”</p><p>Connor’s gaze hardens slightly. ”You care about him.”</p><p>“Yeah. I guess I— I guess I do.”</p><p>“Oh, Nines,” Connor murmurs. “I didn’t know.”</p><p>Nines laughs darkly. “And now that I finally got over my own stupid prejudices, he’s not even waking up.”</p><p>“He will.”</p><p>“But how do you know? You heard the doctor, his chances of survival are slim to none.”</p><p>“Gavin’s tough. He can take it. But, if I may,” Connor averts his eyes, “when did this happen? Last I knew, you wanted to throw him into a trash compactor.”</p><p>Nines opens his mouth, but his answer lingers on his lips. Because the truth stops him in his tracks.</p><p>“I… I don’t know,” he says. “He just— He’s <em>different</em>. He keeps, I dunno, seeing more of me, and getting closer, and that should <em>scare</em> me, right? But it doesn’t. It doesn’t make any sense.”</p><p>“‘Course it does. Nines, he… he needs you.”</p><p>“Yeah, right,” Nines scoffs.</p><p>“I’m <em>serious</em>.” Connor turns toward him, knocking his knees against Nines’s leg. “Listen. Gavin and I, we don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things. But I’m not <em>blind</em>, Nines. I see the way he looks at you when you’re not watching. Did you know that it took him five tries to make you a cup of coffee one day? He’d prepare it, scan it, and if it wasn’t to his liking, he’d start over. It took him almost half an hour to get the perfect cup. And I don’t think I’ve <em>ever </em>seen him take that jacket off. You make him happy. Don’t you get it?”</p><p>Nines turns over this information in his mind.</p><p>“Holy shit.”</p><p>Connor playfully elbows Nines in the arm. “Doesn’t make much sense to me either, but it’s the truth.”</p><p><em>Holy shit indeed</em>.</p><p>“Now c’mon,” Connor says, holding out a hand. Nines eagerly takes it, allowing himself to be steered toward the door to Gavin’s room.</p><p>Connor takes up position just outside the viewing glass.</p><p>“I’ll give you two some time,” he says.</p><p>Nines makes to enter the room, but something stops him.</p><p>“Wait.”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>Nines smiles. “Thank you.”</p><p>“No problem, kid.”</p><p>The door clicks open.</p><p> </p><p>Gavin doesn’t breathe.</p><p>Nines knows this, on some level, but seeing him here, on this bed that looks a little too much like an autopsy table, lying perfectly still, with no rise and fall of his chest, really drives it home.</p><p>Nines heard, once, that coma patients can still hear the voices of their visitors; he wonders if it’s true for androids.</p><p>He should really say something.</p><p>Thousands of apologies, pleas for forgiveness, and proclamations of sorts are born and die on his tongue, too heavy and awkward to make it past his vocal chords.</p><p>From the opposite side of the window, Connor presses a small thumbs up to the glass.</p><p>“Hey.” He can say that much. “Hey, Gavin.” What next? “Callahan got away. We don’t know where he went, yet, but we’re, uh. We’re working on it.” Nines swallows thickly. “Some good news too, I suppose. Reverend Pritzker is dead. You shot him, didn’t you. When you came to—” <em>save me</em>, “—to retrieve me. I meant to thank you for that, you know, but, um. I didn’t really get the opportunity. I just… I could really use your help. Finding Jason, that is. We don’t know what he plans to do next, so we, uh, we need you. To help stop him.”</p><p>Connor knocks, gentle yet insistent.</p><p><em>Nines, you idiot, now’s not the time for holding back</em>.</p><p>From where Nines is perched in an uncomfortable plastic chair, Gavin’s hand is close, close enough to touch. So Nines does, hesitantly resting his trembling fingers on Gavin’s knuckles. The joint of his middle finger is slightly curved, Nines notices, an abnormality invisible to the naked eye, but obvious when he feels along the edge.</p><p>Gavin’s fingers vibrate slightly, almost humming with the beating of his Thirium pump.</p><p>So almost-human.</p><p>It’s beautiful.</p><p>“Okay,” he whispers, suddenly choked up. “Okay, Tin Can.”</p><p>Inhale. Exhale. Just three simple words.</p><p>“I need you.” And it’s like a dam breaks, somewhere in Nines’s chest, the world narrowing to just the two of them. “I need you, Gavin. I know that sounds… hard to believe—I mean, if I didn’t know any better, I don’t think I’d believe it myself—but, in some inexplicable way, I need you. I need you to come back to me, Gavin.” It’s a demand, at this point.</p><p><em>Come back to me</em>.</p><p>“I understand that our relationship hasn’t always been the best, but I need you to know that if I could take it all back, I would do it in a heartbeat. I was genuinely awful to you when we met, and I had absolutely no right to be. And for that, I am so, so sorry. But you… you persisted. You never let me entertain the idea that I was somehow better than you, and you were right there to put me in my place when I needed it. You are…” <em>brilliant, capable, intelligent</em>. “You’re my partner. More than that, at this point, if I’m being honest.”</p><p>Nines squeezes Gavin’s hand a little tighter.</p><p>“You are my partner. You are my best friend. You are <em>Gavin</em>, and you are this radiant beacon of light in my life that I cannot fathom living without. So, if you can hear me, at least know this.”</p><p><em>I need you</em>.</p><p>“I don’t want to go back to how it was before. I <em>can’t</em>. I can’t go back to being without you.”</p><p>
  <em>I don’t know why, but I need you.</em>
</p><p>“You promised me you wouldn’t go.”</p><p><em>You, and your morning coffee and your bad jokes and your problem with authority</em>.</p><p>“Come back to me, Gavin,” Nines pleads. “Please.”</p><p>One of the machines, seemingly equivalent to an android heart monitor that Nines just now notices has been quietly pulsing the whole time, rapidly picks up in tempo.</p><p>“Gavin?” Nines searches for any sign of life in his partner’s wires and fractured chassis, but nothing comes. In the low light, Nines almost misses the tear that slips down his brother’s cheek.</p><p>Suddenly, it’s all too much, and Nines just needs to get <em>out</em>. He can’t sit around anymore, he has to do <em>something</em>, anything at all to help Gavin in whatever way he can.</p><p>“I’m going back to the precinct,” he says, pushing past Connor once he’s in the hallway again</p><p>“What? Why?”</p><p>“To be <em>useful</em>,” he growls, pulling the IV drip out of his hand.</p><p>“Wait, Nines, you need to get some rest!”</p><p>“I can’t.”</p><p>“Well, at least take your—”</p><p>The door to the hallway slams shut, cutting off the rest of Connor’s sentence. Nines quickly calls an autotaxi as he clambers down far too many flights of steps, dress shoes echoing around the concrete stairwell.</p><p>His taxi’s already there by the time he gets to the lobby, which is mostly empty save for a few android staff. As he pushes into the downpour, a sleek black car pulls up behind the taxi, and a young man wearing a neatly tailored suit and a luminous feather boa steps out of it, toting a heavy duty briefcase.</p><p>“Evening,” he says, checking his watch and ducking inside.</p><p>“Good evening,” Nines parrots, waving half-heartedly. The longer he stares, the more fare he racks up for himself, so he quickly hops into the car and speeds off toward the precinct.</p><p>Nines is antsy the whole ride there. His leg bounces incessantly, and the edge is only slightly taken off by calling Tina to ask for her help. Thank goodness she’s working late, Nines would have felt terrible for tearing her away from her wife, even if it was a matter of life and death.</p><p>When Nines enters the D.P.D. precinct, Tina has to let him in, as he’s lost his ID somewhere between the AAL meeting and CyberLife’s hospital wing. The first thing she does is pull him into a tight hug, tucking her face into his chest. But then her demeanor changes and she’s all business. Together, the two of them set up an investigative hub in a small conference room, arming themselves with two mugs of coffee each.</p><p>“So what’s our game plan?” Tina says, clapping her hands together. “I mean, we might just have to wait for CyberLife to figure something out.”</p><p>“No,” Nines says, pulling up the incident report from the AAL meeting. “I know we can’t wake Gavin up. But what we can do in the meantime is track down Callahan ourselves. He fled east from the scene; on foot, so he couldn’t have gotten far.”</p><p>“But what if he got a ride from there? Took the bus?”</p><p>Nines shakes his head. “A bus would be too conspicuous. It’s possible he took a car, but his license was suspended six months ago from habitual drunk driving. So unless he wanted to risk getting arrested with a murder weapon in his back seat…”</p><p>“He would have stuck to the side streets where cars couldn’t follow.”</p><p>“Perfect. Now, this part of town is fairly old and security coverage is spotty at best, so we’ll have to do a fair bit of guesswork.”</p><p>Nines inspects the video of the aftermath of the parking garage fiasco. A blur in the middle distance tears down the street, full tilt, disappearing around a corner. The next camera doesn’t catch him at all.</p><p>“So our killer disappears somewhere between these two cameras,” Tina says. “Are there any alleyways marked on the map?”</p><p>“Quite a few, actually,” Nines notes, pointing to three viable options. “And it’s always possible he hid in one of these buildings as well.”</p><p><em>This would be so much easier if Gavin was here</em>, Nines finds himself thinking. He quickly stifles that notion. No use getting caught up in his head, especially not now.</p><p>“Well, what else do we know?” Tina taps her chin with a dry erase marker. “The killer was carrying the cattle prod when he ran, right? That’s a pretty hefty weapon, so that leaves him with two options: hole up with it or chuck it in a dumpster.”</p><p>“And Callahan’s kept this same one for five years, so that almost guarantees he’s the sentimental type,” Nines replies, pursing his lips disdainfully. “A tool of that size and weight would be difficult to carry for long periods of time, so it’s more than likely he’s hunkered down somewhere in the area.”</p><p>“Nines, it’s been hours,” Tina says, chugging some of her coffee. “Someone could’ve picked him up by now. And hell, half these buildings have underground tunnels, he could’ve come out the other side. The margin of error’s just too big. It could take us <em>days</em> to find the right camera.”</p><p>“Sounds like you could use some help, Meat Sack.”</p><p><em>Gavin</em>.</p><p>Nines whirls, almost spilling his coffee in the process. He’s half convinced he’s going crazy. Last he saw, Gavin was dying. And now…</p><p>There he is, looking good as new. Or, about as good as Gavin can look on a regular basis. His leather jacket’s gone, replaced by a long white trench coat and what looks like a floral button-down. And he’s smiling, crooked and wry. Just behind him, Connor gives a curt two-fingered salute.</p><p>Nines stares, open-mouthed, itching to reach out and touch him, just to make sure that he’s <em>real</em>, that this isn’t some morphine-induced nightmare, but he’s rooted to the spot. Beside him, Tina’s just as taken aback, whispering “Gavin?” like she’s terrified he’ll disappear again.</p><p>“Hey, T,” Connor says, eyes flicking back and forth between Nines and Gavin. “Would you like to get some more coffee with me?”</p><p>“Nah, dude, I already got my— <em>oh</em>. Oh shit.” Tina stands abruptly, gathering up the coffee mugs. “Yeah, Con, let’s uh. Let’s do that.”</p><p>As quickly as he came, Connor and Tina scurry out of the room, clutching the mugs to their chests.</p><p>Gavin rolls his eyes, leaning against the doorframe. “Guess I shoulda known your fuckin’ coping mechanism would be <em>more work</em>. Didn’t realize I made such an impact.”</p><p>Nines ignores the subtle jab, focusing instead on the fact that, against all odds, Gavin is <em>here</em>. Gavin is <em>alive</em>. “How… how did you wake up?”</p><p>“Eh, Kamski musta been feeling particularly favorable. Sent one of his little minions on down, patched me up.” His demeanor is casual, but Nines can sense the undercurrent of something <em>more</em> underneath Gavin’s carefully crafted nonchalance. He studies his hand, flexing it experimentally. Nines, with a jolt, realizes the joints move without clicking.</p><p>“Besides,” Gavin continues, finally meeting Nines’s gaze, “didn’t hurt that I heard you.”</p><p>Nines’s insides are churning with fear. If Gavin knows what he said, it doesn’t take a genius to see what he really meant. And if Gavin <em>knows</em>, then…</p><p>Nines pulls his hand off the table.</p><p>“You heard… everything?”</p><p>“Pretty much all of it,” Gavin agrees. His eyes—a lovely, mossy hazel that Nines has never really appreciated—glitter in the lamplight. He takes a careful step forward that Nines unconsciously mirrors.</p><p>Nines’s heartbeat roars in his ears, and he fights every urge in his body telling him to recant, to tell Gavin he didn’t mean it, to just <em>run</em>. Even if he wanted to, Nines doesn’t think he could, not with the way Gavin’s looking at him.</p><p>Like there’s something worth looking at.</p><p>“‘A beacon of light,’ huh?”</p><p>His words, in Gavin’s mouth, take on a new, unidentifiable meaning. Nines swallows thickly. Gavin’s so close, now, a phantom presence on the outskirts of Nines’s perception. His whole body thrums, nerves singing with a sudden boost of adrenaline.</p><p>“I hate you,” is all he can think to say, though the way his hands twitch at his sides and his eyes brim with tears suggests otherwise.</p><p>With that, Gavin closes the distance, looking up at Nines with a quizzical tilt of the head. When he speaks, his voice echoes in Nines’s ears. An epiphany.</p><p>“<em>You love me</em>.”</p><p>The truth. It’s there, in the open. Looking at Gavin for too long is almost painful, a supernova that only Nines can see. So instead he looks down. The rough synthskin that usually covers Gavin’s fingers is steadily retracting with a soft blue glow, and Nines can’t resist the urge to take Gavin’s hand in his. The hum from earlier is stronger now. Cautiously, Nines presses his fingertips to Gavin’s wrist.</p><p>A pulsepoint. Nines can feel the rush of Thirium through Gavin’s veins.</p><p>It’s so <em>human</em>, and it’s so wonderful. And Nines, in return, carefully rotates Gavin’s hand, pressing the cold metal of his fingers to his ulnar artery.</p><p>He might be delusional, but for a moment it feels as though their pulses beat in synchrony.</p><p>When Nines glances back up, Gavin’s eyes are on his, and he holds his free hand up almost reverently, carefully settling it in the notch where Nines’s ear meets his jaw.</p><p>That’s all it takes for Gavin to lean in and kiss him. He gently tugs on the back of Nines’s neck, pulling his face up to Nines’s level.</p><p>Gavin’s lips are unbearably soft, and Nines sighs into his touch, tension bleeding out of his stiff muscles. He grips Gavin’s hand even tighter, holding on for dear life. Nines fears he may lose himself entirely if he lets go.</p><p>Nines nearly chases after Gavin when he pulls away, but Gavin’s kissing him again, cutting off his protest. The pounding in his head is a mile away, all Nines can feel is Gavin, a pleasant warmth arcing out from his fingers on Nines’s neck, his palm in Nines’s hand, his lips on Nines’s mouth. His body is untethered; it feels as though he doesn’t exist outside of where Gavin is touching him.</p><p>Tears run freely down his face. Gavin brushes them away with his thumb, and Nines lets out a choked laugh, effectively ending the kiss.</p><p>“An improvement on the HK800 in every way,” Nines says, taking in Gavin’s face, exquisite and ethereal, haloed in diffuse blue light.</p><p>Gavin knocks him upside the head, a gesture of loving exasperation. “Shut up, Reed.”</p><p>“Hey,” Nines hisses. “Careful.”</p><p>“Sorry!” Gavin traces a bandage on Nines’s cheek. “I forgot you’re a delicate little flower.”</p><p>Nines snorts. “Did they program you with so much sarcasm or is that unique to your deviancy?”</p><p>“I’m the most advanced android ever made, Detective,” Gavin says with a wink.</p><p>“You are a menace to society, Gavin.”</p><p>“Says the professional nuisance.”</p><p>“You flatter me.” Nines traces the plating on Gavin’s knuckles. Gavin takes that moment to survey the conference room, noting their jury-rigged surveillance booth.</p><p>“I see you’ve been gettin’ shit done without me,” he notes. He makes no move to leave, hand still firmly planted on the hollow of Nines’s jaw.</p><p>“Yeah, I…” Nines blinks back his tears. “I couldn't just sit around.”</p><p>“I know. Wanna catch me up?” Gavin smiles.</p><p>So Nines kisses him. Because he’s <em>Gavin</em>, perfect and magnificent and irreplaceable and there’s nothing stopping Nines from doing so.</p><p>Nines’s breathing is ragged, unimaginably loud in the quiet of the conference room, almost making up for Gavin’s lack of lungs.</p><p>Gavin rests his forehead against Nines’s, closing his eyes. Nines can’t quite believe it.</p><p>There’s a noise from his right. Both Nines and Gavin’s heads snap up, turning in the direction of the sound.</p><p>It’s Tina, hands decidedly bereft of coffee, the remnants of the mug shattered on the floor at her feet. Her mouth hangs open, eyebrows almost attempting to escape into her hairline.</p><p>“Fucking <em>finally</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>It only takes a few minutes to get Gavin and Connor ensconced in the conference room with them, toting their own tablets. Nines quickly explains their predicament.</p><p>“I could just scan it, you know.”</p><p>Nines is skeptical. “That much footage? How long would it take you?”</p><p>“I dunno,” Gavin shrugs, bumping shoulders with Nines. “Ten minutes?”</p><p>“That little time?”</p><p>“Being an advanced prototype has its perks, you know.”</p><p>“I guess so,” Nines says, mentally tipping his hat to Dr. Einarsson.</p><p>“So should we just… leave you to it?” Tina says, having just returned from mopping up the spilled coffee.</p><p>“Yeah, sure.” Gavin gestures to the hallway. “Now get a move on.”</p><p>Nines and the others quickly excuse themselves, ducking into the breakroom.</p><p>As soon as they get there, Connor wraps Nines in a comfortable hug.</p><p>“I’m so proud of you,” he says, quiet enough that Tina won’t hear. Nines just holds him close, letting himself be rocked gently in Connor’s arms. Tina keeps a respectful distance, tapping out a message on her phone before putting her arms on the desk and settling in for a nap. If Nines wasn’t so wired, he would more than likely do the same.</p><p>“Ey, losers,” Gavin says, rapping a knuckle against the doorframe, “c’mere. I think I got somethin’.”</p><p>Nines slowly disentangles himself from Connor’s grip, wiping his nose on his sleeve, while Connor shakes Tina awake. The four of them shamble back to the conference room, where Gavin points to a series of stills drawn from various security cameras.</p><p>“So.” Gavin points to the first of four. “This is the first camera that caught our perp running away. He disappears around this street corner.”</p><p>“We knew that already,” Tina interrupts, crossing her arms. “There isn’t a speed camera around that way, that’s why we lost him.”</p><p>“And you’re right about that. However.” Gavin taps a few keys, bringing up a grid with several brightly-colored dots. “There are several further down this way, which can tell us where he <em>didn’t</em> go. Process of elimination.” He taps the screen, lowlighting several of the dots. “These cameras didn’t catch any suspicious movement, which narrows it down to two options. Either he ducked inside a building right off the main drag, or ran down this alleyway, here, and did the same thing.”</p><p>“Do any of the buildings have internal cameras?” Connor asks.</p><p>“Not that I could see, no,” Gavin says. “But if I can get on the scene, I can follow the Thirium trail.”</p><p>“No way,” Nines snaps. “Absolutely not, we are <em>not</em> going in without knowing exactly where he is.”</p><p>Tina frowns. “Why would he leave a trail? He’s not an android.”</p><p>“Ah.” Clicking his tongue, Gavin taps his temple with a knowing look. “<em>He</em> doesn’t leave a trail, but—”</p><p>“His cattle prod does,” Nines finishes, appropriately disgusted.</p><p>“Exactly.”</p><p>“Wait,” Connor says, taking over Gavin’s computer. He clicks a few keys, and vibrant yellow and blue lines criss-cross the screen. “This map has utility lines on it.”</p><p>“So?” Gavin rolls his eyes.</p><p>“Lemme see that.” Tina pushes Gavin’s swivel chair out of the way.</p><p>“Hey!” Gavin huffs indignantly. “Have a little respect, would ya?”</p><p>Tina grins. “Nope!” Her eyes dance rapidly back and forth, scanning the map for something Nines can’t figure out. Finally, she puts a finger on a large building, labeled as an abandoned bowling alley.</p><p>“Here. Has to be.”</p><p>Nines raises an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”</p><p>“Was Callahan armed?”</p><p>Nines’s memory is fuzzy, but Gavin shakes his head.</p><p>“Okay, then his only method of defense is this cattle prod, which needs an external power source. If he wants to keep using it, he has to find another power source, because I sure as hell don’t think he ran all that way lugging a generator with him.”</p><p>“But why the bowling alley?” Connor presses from his position leaning against the wall.</p><p>Tina gestures to the surrounding buildings. “There are only a couple accessible points of entry from the main road, and all of them have their power cut.” She’s right. Several of the buildings are devoid of the neon yellow lines that denote a punctually paid energy bill. “Obviously, it’s a trial and error thing, but he’s bound to end up there sooner or later.”</p><p>Nines beams. “Outstanding, Officer Chen.”</p><p>“Yeah, I’ll make detective someday,” she says, lightly smacking Nines’s arm.</p><p>From across the room, Connor makes a disparaging noise. “It’s a start. But we’re deadlocked for now, we’re running on a skeleton crew and there’s no way Fowler will greenlight this.”</p><p>“Then we go without him.” Gavin stands, passing his coat—what Nines now realizes is <em>his</em> coat, the one he must have left at CyberLife—to Nines. “We can’t let this guy get away.”</p><p>“Gavin, we <em>can’t</em>. We have no backup. Who knows if he’s gathered reinforcements?”</p><p>“I’m willing to take that chance.”</p><p>“Well I’m <em>not</em>.”</p><p>“I don’t care what you think, Anderson, we’re taking him down <em>tonight</em>.”</p><p>“I can’t let you—”</p><p>“Connor, he’s right.” All eyes turn to Nines. He takes a deep breath. “Callahan’s arrest is several years overdue. The D.P.D. has already failed the android community once,” Gavin’s gaze hardens, “and I don’t intend to let it fail again.”</p><p>For a moment, there is silence. Then Connor squares his shoulders.</p><p>“Okay.” It’s not a victory.</p><p>Nines reequips his shoulder holster, which Connor thoughtfully brought to the station, wincing at every bump of the straps against his ribs. Gavin stops his prep to help him, gingerly sliding the leather over his arms and securing it.</p><p>There's the beep of an electronic lock, and someone walks into the station, shaking themselves off. The figure approaches the offices, but then stops in its tracks.</p><p>“Hello?” it says.</p><p>Tina squints into the darkness. “Chris?”</p><p>The figure reaches up to take its hood off, and lo and behold, it’s Officer Chris Miller, sopping wet from the storm.</p><p>“Hey, Tina!” Chris exclaims rather incredulously, picking his way across the desks to greet them. “What’s… what’s everybody doing here? And…” His eyes land on where Gavin’s hand sits at the small of Nines’s back. He shakes his head. “You know what, never mind.”</p><p>Just then, Connor steps out of the conference room, doing the last strap on his own shoulder holster. When he sees Chris, he says, “Chris! You’re just in time.”</p><p>“In time for what?”</p><p>Connor cocks his head. “Are you not here for the raid?”</p><p>“The <em>what</em>?”</p><p>“I’ll take that as a no, then.”</p><p>Chris holds up his hands. “Listen, I was just here to pick up my wife’s anniversary present, I didn’t hear about any raid.”</p><p>“You can get your present afterwards. Come with us, we could use the extra numbers.”</p><p>“Well, <em>number</em>,” Gavin mutters. Nines stifles a laugh.</p><p>“Are you sure?” Chris asks. “It seems like you guys have this covered.”</p><p>“Please, Chris. Just trust us?”</p><p>Chris looks at Tina, who shrugs, before nodding. “Alright. I’m in.”</p><p>Nines is hit with an almost overwhelming surge of déjà vu as the five of them pile into Chris’s squad car and make the drive over to the AAL neighborhood. Anxiety bubbles up in Nines’s throat. A number of worst-case scenarios take root in his brain, spiraling out into a vicious, many-limbed monster that crawls inside his chest, making it hard to breathe.</p><p>Beside him in the seat, Gavin rests his head on Nines’s shoulder.</p><p>“It’s gonna be okay.”</p><p>Gavin’s lips barely move, and Nines is not quite certain whether he spoke at all. Fear turns his veins to ice. All he can do is return Gavin’s gesture.</p><p>He lays his head on Gavin’s.</p><p>“How can you be sure?” he mumbles.</p><p>“I can’t,” Gavin says, shifting beneath him. “But I gotta believe it will be, ya know?”</p><p>Nines sighs. “No. Not really.”</p><p>“Well, you were always the pessimist,” Gavin says with a note of fondness.</p><p><em>Fondness</em>. Now <em>there’s</em> a word Nines would never have associated with Gavin just a few short weeks ago. It’s astonishing how much has changed in so little time.</p><p>With heaviness in his heart, Nines says, “Let’s just get this over with.”</p><p>The car’s occupants spend the rest of their journey in a mournful silence, only interrupted by the rhythm of the rain and the muted <em>tick-tick-tick</em> of the turn signal. Streetlamps and stoplights cast odd shadows on their faces, scattered and refracted by the storm. The mood is somber, melancholy; at best, what awaits them is a Pyrrhic victory of sorts. At worst, a slaughter.</p><p>Either way, they’re five years too late.</p><p>Connor rolls the car to a gentle stop about half a block down the street from the entrance of the bowling alley. Unbuckling his seatbelt, he looks everyone in the eye. They nod.</p><p>“Well,” Gavin says to their little mongrel team, standing shoulder to shoulder in front of the flickering neon sign, “it’s go-time.”</p><p> </p><p>The raid is almost laughably easy.</p><p>Gavin finds Callahan first, alone and curled in on himself behind one of the pin retrieval areas. The rest of them come running a moment later, drawn in by the sounds of his shouts. Nines, heart pounding, draws his gun and shoves the door open, wincing slightly from the pressure on his wrist, but Gavin holds up a hand.</p><p>Callahan’s standing in the corner, clutching his cattle prod—which is sparking intermittently, clearly losing power—blood oozing from a gunshot to his left shin, poorly bandaged with a strip of cloth Nines isn’t sure he wants to know the origin of. Despite being outnumbered five to one, Callahan holds the cattle prod out toward them, shrieking at them to stay away.</p><p>With one swift kick, Gavin knocks it out his hands, rushing forward to snap handcuffs around him. Tina ducks around back to cut the power, and then it’s over.</p><p><em>It’s over</em>.</p><p>When it becomes abundantly clear that there isn’t room in the single squad car for all six of them, Nines insists Connor get a cab home, he’ll take Callahan in, but Connor protests vehemently, pointing out Nines has only been out of hospital for a couple of hours. There’s a few moments of tense bickering, during which Callahan looks on, unimpressed, while Tina mimes eating popcorn, but eventually, Nines has to concede to Connor’s wishes. Surprisingly, Gavin hangs back as well, watching the patrol car speed off into the night.</p><p>The cab pulls up a few minutes later, and Nines and Gavin hurry from under the relative cover of a storefront awning and pile into it, collapsing into the seats.</p><p>Nines can’t bring himself to move. He’s running on fumes, injuries, and a post-adrenaline crash and general fatigue piling onto his limp body and seeping into his core. His head drops to Gavin’s shoulder of its own accord; he simply doesn’t have the strength to stay upright.</p><p>“Hey, Nines.”</p><p>“Mmph?”</p><p>“We’re here.”</p><p>The rain’s stopped.</p><p>He must have fallen asleep. Gavin’s hand is on his shoulder, lightly jostling him awake.</p><p>Groaning, Nines pulls himself up into a sitting position. At some point during the drive, he’d slumped over all the way into Gavin’s lap, probably drooling on his jeans. He just barely remembers to pay the fare.</p><p>Nines staggers to his apartment building, Gavin nipping at his heels. He fishes in his pockets for his keys to no avail—his hands are almost numb from the cold and the pain of the last twenty-four hours—but then Gavin taps him on the shoulder and holds up the fob.</p><p>An embarrassingly long amount of time passes before Nines can really process what Gavin’s holding. Eventually, he takes the key, giving Gavin a bleary wink and a thumbs up, before letting them into his apartment. Its simplicity has never put him off before, it had always been perfectly acceptable, but now, with Gavin here to observe the spartan way in which he lives, Nines feels like it’s underwhelmingly plain. He gestures loosely at the coat rack, before remembering Gavin gave him his coat back.</p><p>The first rays of the coming dawn are beginning to show, the clouds glowing pink near the horizon. Nines stifles a yawn. A large part of him wants to make some tea, the strongest kind he owns, and an even larger part of him wants nothing more than to throw himself at the nearest cushioned horizontal surface and sleep for seven years, but something in the way Gavin studies the sky—curiously, intently, totally enraptured—holds him back.</p><p>Cautiously, Nines approaches him, looking out the glass door that leads to his balcony. The morning light bathes him in shades of aureate and amber, hazel eyes shining like liquid gold.</p><p>Well. If they’re going to watch the sunrise, they may as well do it properly.</p><p>Nines picks his way across the living room, stumbling around in the semi-darkness, throwing the lock on the door and stepping out onto the balcony. The recent rainfall leaves a peculiar, yet familiar, scent in the air, soothing Nines’s nerves. A cool breeze buffets his hair and clothes. The chill gnaws at his bones, but he finds he doesn’t mind.</p><p>Gavin is quick to follow, pulling the door shut behind him. His LED is a clear blue, standing out in the sea of fiery tones bathing the city before them. Nines inhales the crisp early-morning atmosphere, relishing the feeling of the cold settling in his burning lungs.</p><p>When he glances at Gavin, Gavin averts his eyes, instead focusing on the expanse of puddles in the parking lot reflecting the watercolor sky.</p><p>It’s abundantly clear they need to figure themselves out.</p><p>“So,” Nines says, unsure of how to start with anything else.</p><p>“So,” Gavin agrees, looking down at his clasped hands, folded delicately on the balcony railing.</p><p>Nines breathes deeply, willing his heart rate to slow.</p><p>“Gavin, we should talk.”</p><p>“What about?”</p><p>“Don’t be coy.” He turns to face Gavin, whose gaze remains firmly fixed everywhere but Nines’s face. “You know what.”</p><p>Gavin raps his fingers on the railing, before finally looking Nines in the eye. “Yeah. I do. I’ve just, I’ve never really been good at this sort of thing.”</p><p>“Well, you aren’t alone on that front.” Nines watches the rising sun, mind racing. “We just haven’t had a chance to… discuss this. <em>Us</em>.”</p><p>“Heh,” Gavin laughs, just once, short and bleak. “Buyer’s remorse, huh?”</p><p>Nines furrows his brow. The jab does not go unnoticed, but more concerning is the fact that Gavin appears to mean it wholeheartedly.</p><p>“Of course not,” Nines says slowly. “What about you is so reprehensible you believe I would turn you away?”</p><p>“Have you met me?” Gavin scoffs. “God, what isn’t bad?” There are many ways this sentence can end; his faulty personality; the way none of his pieces fit right; his track record on the force; the fact that he isn’t human and could never pretend to be.</p><p>And Nines realizes that he doesn’t care.</p><p>“We had a rough start, I suppose,” he admits. “Though you’ll find most of that was due to my... <em>less than accommodating</em> opinions on androids.”</p><p>“Don’t take all the credit, I was an ass to you too.”</p><p>Nines chuckles. “Nice to hear you finally say it.”</p><p>“Oh, shut up. I was a bastard and you know it.” Gavin picks at the loose wood of the railing, sobering slightly. “I really was a nasty piece of work.”</p><p>“That may be,” Nines says, laying a hand over Gavin’s clenched fist, “but there’s much more to admire about you than to detest, I think.”</p><p>As the sun creeps higher in the sky, Gavin’s features shine, ever so slightly metallic after the rain. Under Nines’s palm, Gavin laces their fingers together.</p><p>“Listen, Nines,” Gavin says, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb over Nines’s knuckles, “you should know what you’re signing up for. I mean, I'm a mess and a half and if I break there’s no guarantee you’re getting me back. All this?” He gestures to himself with his free hand. “This is temporary. It isn’t forever. I’m… missing pieces and I’m damaged and I have so much shit to work through it isn’t even funny. Are you sure you really… want that? I mean, I can’t even…”</p><p>“Can’t what?”</p><p>“I can’t be physically intimate with you. It’s just not in my programming.” Though Gavin retains an aura of casual disinterest, he squeezes Nines’s hand a little harder.</p><p>“Gavin,” Nines says, “I don’t mind. In fact, I… I prefer it.”</p><p>Gavin’s jaw drops. “You… you do?”</p><p>“As difficult as it might be for you to believe, yes. I do. I don’t need… any of that. And even if I did, I still would choose you.”</p><p>“Yeah, right.”</p><p>“You may not understand this now, but you <em>are</em> worthy of love, Gavin. Everyone is. That much I know.”</p><p>Gavin sighs. “I just wanna be complete for you.”</p><p>Affection tugs at the corners of Nines’s mouth as he holds Gavin’s hand between them, tracing the seams of the plating, curling Gavin’s fingers around his own. “You are more than enough to me,” he whispers.</p><p>Teeth worrying at his bottom lip, Gavin considers their interlaced hands, before, seemingly on a whim, disentangling his and cupping Nines’s cheek. His synthskin pulls away as he does so, revealing the same chipped white plastic and metal Nines has come to love. He leans into the touch, binging his own hand up to press Gavin’s closer against his skin.</p><p>Gavin’s LED spins yellow. He’s thinking. Or does that happen every time his skin retracts? Nines furrows his brow. Something about Gavin’s skin has been bothering him for a while, but only now does he understand what it is.</p><p>Nines delicately pulls Gavin’s hand away from his jaw, pressing their palms together and admiring the way the almost-daylight dances across his chassis.</p><p>“Why does this happen sometimes?” he asks. “With your skin?”</p><p>Gavin chuckles. “It’s sort of… android flirting? I can’t really think of a better way to put it. Androids retract our skin to interface with stuff, so it’s kinda supposed to be a sign of affection among partners, I guess.” Watching their hands, skin against metal, he adds, “I don’t really have much control over it, around you.”</p><p>Nines always suspected this was the case, and he’d once seen Shannon and her girlfriend do something similar in the foyer of the D.P.D., but Gavin’s confirmation is still satisfying.</p><p>“I thought so,” he says, finally letting his hand drop. “It was just nice to hear you say it.”</p><p>“You sneaky bastard,” Gavin retorts, though there’s no real malice there.</p><p>The sun is nearly fully risen. Across the city, lights flicker on in highrises, car engines start up, and the dregs of Detroit’s nightlife trickle out of the streets.</p><p>“I meant what I said, you know.” Gavin’s voice startles Nines out of his train of thought.</p><p>“Pardon?”</p><p>LED spinning a clear pale blue, Gavin says, “I’m not going anywhere.”</p><p>“I know.” Nines smiles. “Me neither, Tin Can.”</p><p>As dawn breaks over the city, shafts of light pouring in through the hollows of the skyline, Nines leans in and kisses him, soft, tender, chaste.</p><p>Here, with their foreheads pressed together and Nines’s breath filling the space between them and Gavin’s fingers light on the back of Nines’s neck, Nines has never been more certain about anything in his life.</p><p><em>I love you</em>.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Summary mentioned in the beginning notes: Nines wakes up disoriented, Callahan walks around waving a cattle prod and taunting him, we as an audience learn that he was the one that attacked Gavin all those years ago and that this is the very same parking garage. Lots of angst.</p><p>Thank y'all for reading! I had an absolute blast churning this out. I totally meant for it to be a short pastiche and then, well. Things just kept happening, ya know? I hope you liked it!</p><p>Follow me on <a href="https://legendtripper.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a> (@legendtripper) or <a href="https://twitter.com/legendtripperb">Twitter</a> (@legendtripperb)!</p><p>Leave a comment if you're feeling generous! I absorb the vibes for energy like photosynthesis.</p><p>Be sure to check out Octopunk Media's <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=apUn-YMMdZ8">Detroit: Evolution</a> on YouTube, as well as its lovely director (Michelle Iannantuono) and cast (Maximilian Koger, Chris Trindade, Jillian Geurts, Carla Kim, JJ Goller, and Michael Smallwood) wherever they can be found!</p><p>And here is your not-so-friendly reminder that this is a work of fiction and to kindly refrain from shipping Maximilian and Chris. I have a crowbar and I'm itching to swing.</p><p>As Michelle would say, "Stay great, hydrate, and have a happy timezone!"</p></blockquote></div></div>
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